jf  IHHKl 

vfihri  ?•;.?  v  r: 


2417 


r 


This  Book  may  be  kept 

FOURTEEN  DAYS 

from  last  date  given  below.  A  fine  of  two  cents  will  be 
charged  for  each  day  the  book  is  kept  over  time. 


it 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2018  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/viewsafootoreuro00tayl_0 


PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

REVISED  EDITION. 

- ♦— 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Of 


^B^ara  Taylor.  Qiester.C 


o 


ItEWXOMKg  (&.R  HJWM  0 


i  irr ARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  HUNOIS 

URBAN A 


r  r  \ 

•II  |\  |  \  l  U  n  I  I 

HEWS  A-FOOT; 


EUROPE  SEEN.  WITH  KNAPSACK  AND  STAFF. 


By  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

*  •  %  .  _ _ ~  • 


Jog  on,  jog  on,  the  foot-path  way, 

And  merrily  hent  the  8tile-a, 

A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 

Your  sad  tires  in  a  mile-a. 

Winter’s  Tali 


CAXTON  EDITION,  REVISED 


NEW  YORK: 

G.  P.  PUTNAM  AND  SON,  661  Broadway, 
Opposite  Bond  Street. 

1867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

G.  P.  PUTNAM. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  states  for  the  Southern 

District  of  New  York. 


RIVERSIDE.  CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED  BY  H.  D.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY- 


V*>-VY«s 


FRANK  TAYLOR, 


THIS  STORY  OF  THE  PILGRIMAGE 

f 

WHOSE  TOILS  AND  ENJOYMENTS  WE  SHARED  TOGETHE 


IS 


&D 

CM 

'<# 


AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED, 

BY 

HIS  RELATIVE  AND  FRIEND. 


o& 


mim!  •  i|| 


. 


* 


. 


* 


/ 

- 


PREFACE. 


This  work  was  .first  published  in  December,  1846, 
six  months  after  my  return  from  Europe.  Some  litera¬ 
ry  friends,  who  had  been  interested  in  the  letters  which 
I  sent  home  during  my  pedestrian  journeys,  encouraged 
me  in  the  design  of  collecting  them,  completing  the 
story  from  my  journals,  and  producing  a  book,  which, 
while  treating  of  beaten  tracks,  might  possess  some 
interest  from  the  circumstances  under  which  they  were 
trodden.  Mr.  JST.  P.  Willis,  whose  kindness  to  me  was 
as  prompt  as  his  friendship  has  been  generous  and  con¬ 
stant,  wrote  an  introduction,  giving  the  buoyancy  of 
his  name  to  a  craft  which  might  not  otherwise  have 
ridden  so  fortunately  the  capricious  sea  of  literary  suc¬ 
cess.  Several  editions  were  sold  during  the  following 
year,  and  in  August,  1848,  I  added  to  the  eighth  edition 
a  chapter  containing  some  practical  information  for 
pedestrians,  in  answer  to  numerous  letters  from  young 


PREFACE. 


VI 

men  who  desired  to  follow  my  example.  To  the  same 
edition  I  attached  the  following  prefatory  remarks : 

“  In  presenting  to  the  public  a  new  and  improved  edition  of  this  re¬ 
cord  of  his  wanderings,  the  author  could  not  justly  suffer  the  opportu¬ 
nity  to  go  by,  without  expressing  his  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the 
kindness  with  which  his  work  has  been  received.  Although  his  aim 
was  simply  to  give  a  narrative  of  personal  experience,  which  it  was  hoped 
might  be  of  some  value  to  many  a  toiling  student  in  the  college  of  the 
world,  he  was  aware  that  it  would  be  considered  a  test  of  his  literary 
ability,  and  that  whatever  hearing  he  might  have  hoped  to  obtain  for  the 
works  of  maturer  years,  would  be  dependent  on  its  success.  With  a 
total  ignorance  of  the  arts  of  book-making,  and  uncertain  whether  a 
new  voice  from  the  track  where  thousands  had  been  before  him 
would  find  a  patient  auditory,  it  was  therefore  not  without  considera¬ 
ble  anxiety  that  he  gave  his  volume  to  the  world.  But  he  was  not 
prepared  to  hope  for  such  an  immediate  and  generous  favor  as  it  re¬ 
ceived.  By  the  press  of  our  own  country,  as  well  as  the  more  rigid 
reviewers  of  Great  Britain,  whatever  merits  it  possesses  were  cordially 
appreciated,  while  its  faults  were  but  lightly  touched — perhaps  from  a 
sympathy  with  the  youth  of  the  author,  and  the  plan  of  his  enthusias¬ 
tic  pilgrimage.  But  what  was  most  grateful  of  all,  he  learned  that 
many  another  young  and  hopeful  spirit  had  been  profited  and  encou¬ 
raged  by  his  own  experience,  and  was  ready  to  try  the  world  with  as 
little  dependence  on  worldly  means.  The  letters  he  received  from 
young  men  whose  hopes  and  circumstances  were  what  his  own  had 
been,  gave  welcome  evidence  that  he  had  not  written  in  vain.  He  will 
not  say  that  this  knowledge  repaid  him  for  whatever  toil  and  hardship 
he  had  undergone ;  whoever  is  subjected  to  the  same  experience  will 
learn  that  it  brings  its  own  reward ; — but  it  will  nerve  him  henceforth 
to  bear  any  lot,  however  severe,  through  which  he  may  be  enabled 
to  say  a  word  that  shall  cheer  or  strengthen  another. 

“  He  is  now  fully  aware  how  much  he  has  omitted  from  these  pages, 
which  would  have  been  curious  and  perhaps  instructive  to  the  reader; 


PREFACE. 


Til 


•—how  many  blunders  of  inexperience ;  how  much  thoughtless  confi* 
dence  in  the  world ;  how  many  painful  struggles  with  pride,  and  a  too 
selfish  independence ;  how  many  strange  extremities  of  want  and  amus¬ 
ing  expedients  of  relief.  His  reluctance  to  relate  much  that  was  entire¬ 
ly  personal  and  could  not  have  been  told  without  some  little  sacrifice 
of  feeling,  has  since  been  regretted,  from  the  belief  that  it  might  have 
been  useful  to  others.  Perhaps,  however,  it  will  be  better  that  each  one 
should  learn  these  lessons  for  himself.  There  is  a  sensation  of  novelty, 
which,  even  in  the  most  embarrassing  situations,  produces  a  desperate 
kind  of  enjoyment,  and  in  addition  to  this,  the  sufferer’s  sympathies  for 
humanity  are  very  much  deepened  and  enlarged  by  an  acquaintance 
with  its  trials. 

"  In  preparing  the  present  edition  of  his  book,  the  author  at  first 
contemplated  a  complete  revision.  The  fact  that  seven  editions  had 
been  sold  in  a  year  and  a  half  from  the  publication,  seemed  to  require 
that  he  should  make  such  improvements  as  his  riper  judgment  suggested, 
and  which  should  render  it  more  worthy  of  so  extensive  a  circulation. 
But  further  reflection  convinced  him  that  it  would  be  best  to  make 
little  change.  It  was  written  during  his  wanderings — partly  by  the 
wayside,  when  resting  at  mid-day,  and  partly  on  the  rough  tables  of 
peasant  inns,  in  the  stillness  of  deserted  ruins,  or  amid  the  sublime  soli¬ 
tude  of  the  mountain-top.  It  thus  reflects  faithfully  the  impress  of  hia 
own  mind,  in  every  part  of  the  journey,  and  he  would  prefer  that  it 
should  remain  a  boyish  work,  however  lacking  in  finish  of  composition, 
rather  than  risk  taking  away  whatever  spirit  it  may  have  caught  from 
nature.  Some  particulars,  which  have  been  desired  by  persons  about 
to  undertake  a  similar  journey,  and  which  may  be  generally  interesting, 
have  been  given  in  a  new  chapter  at  the  close.” 

At  the  time  the  foregoing  preface  was  written,  I  aid 
not  venture  to  anticipate  that  the  work  would  become 
permanently  popular.  It  had  fulfilled  the  object  of 
its  publication,  and  I  should  have  been  satisfied  had 


vrn 


PREFACE. 


it  then  gradually  passed  away  from  the  remembrance 
of  the  reading  public.  Since  that  time,  however, 
twelve  more  editions  have  been  sold,  and  there  appears 
to  be  an  increase  rather  than  an  abatement  of  the 
demand  for  it.  AVhen,  therefore,  Mr.  Putnam,  in  order 
to  produce  a  collected  and  uniform  edition  of  my  tra¬ 
vels,  proposed  to  destroy  the  original  stereotype  plates 
and  reprint  the  work,  to  correspond  with  the  later 
volumes,  I  could  not  suffer  the  opportunity  to  pass  with¬ 
out  giving  it  that  careful  revision  which  was  rendered 
necessary  by  its  crudities  of  style  and  carelessness  of 
arrangement. 

I  have  endeavored  to  make  no  change  which  should 
impair  that  spirit  of  boyish  confidence  and  enthusiasm., 
to  which  alone  I  must  attribute  the  success  of  the  work. 
I  have  not  meddled  with  the  language  further  than  to 
correct  occasional  violations  of  taste.  My  task  has 
been,  to  omit  much  that  was  irrelevant  to  the  story 
and  to  my  object  in  telling  it,  replacing  these  omissions 
with  personal  particulars,  which  had  been  withheld 
through  an  unnecessary  pride.  I  have  even  in  some 
instances  suffered  opinions  to  stand,  which  I  have  long 
since  outgrown,  because  they  illustrate  my  ignorance 
and  immaturity  at  the  time.  My  object  is  to  make 
this  account  of  my  two  years’  experiment  more  clear 
and  intelligible  to  the  reader — to  retain  everything  that 
is  novel  or  characteristic,  while  relieving  it  of  an  over¬ 
plus  of  mere  description,  which  possesses  no  general 
interest.  I  have  also  added  an  introductory  chapter, 


PREFACE. 


IX 


containing  all  the  particulars  mentioned  by  Mr.  Willis 
in  his  original  introduction,  with  others  which  seemed 
necessary  to  make  the  story  complete.  In  with¬ 
drawing  the  book  from  the  shelter  of  that  gentle¬ 
man’s  name,  I  can  do  no  less  than  say  that  the 
kindness  of  heart  which  made  him  one  of  my  first 
literary  friends,  leaves  me  still  his  debtor ;  but  those 
who  know  him  truly,  know  that  indebtedness  to  him  is 
a  burden  lightly  and  gladly  borne. 

In  conclusion,  I  must  disclaim  any  particular  talent 
for  economy,  which  has  sometimes  been  accorded  to 
me,  on  account  of  having  seen  so  much  on  such  short 
allowance.  Had  I  possessed  more  I  should  have  spent 
more,  and  the  only  value  of  my  experience  is,  to  prove 
to  young  men  of  scanty  means  that  they  need  not  ne¬ 
cessarily  be  debarred  from  enjoying  the  pleasures  and 
the  advantages  of  travel.  The  story  of  this  experience 
has  been,  and  may  still  be,  useful  to  others ;  and  I 
claim  for  it  no  further  merit  than  that  of  truth,  without 
reserve  or  exaggeration. 

B.  T 


New  York,  October ,  1855. 


.  -  •• 


■  ■ 

■■  ■ ;  ;  ■  : 


* 


... 


. 


. 

■ 


- 


*,  - 


-  • 


.♦  . 


t 


CONTENTS 


♦♦♦ 


CHAPTER  I. 

Introductory . 17 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Second  Cabin — Our  Fellow  Passengers — Sea  Life — The  Banks  of  Newfoundland- 
Black  Fish — Unfavorable  Weather — The  Iowa  Indians — Their  Songs  and  Dances— 
Raising  the  Wind — Off  the  Hebrides — First  Sight  of  Land — Scenery  of  the  North 
Channel — A  Burial  at  Sea — The  Isle  of  Man — Approach  to  Liverpool — Objects  on 
Landing— A  Race  for  the  Custom  House — A  Day  in  Liverpool,  ,  ...  24 

CHAPTER  III. 

Leaving  Liverpool — The  Second  Cabin  again — Irish  Fellow  Passengers — The  Channel 
— The  Northern  Coast  of  Ireland — Port  Rush — A  Rainy  Day — An  Irish  Hut— 
Dunluce  Castle — Rain  and  Ruin — The  Giant’s  Causeway — The  Giant’s  Well — 
Basaltic  Columns — The  Giant’s  Organ,  and  Chimneys — A  Coast  Scene — The  Shore 
at  Night — Wandering  in  the  Storm — Return  to  Port  Rush,  ....  33 

CHAPTER  IY. 

Passage  to  Greenock — The  Deck  Passengers — Arrival  at  Night — The  Blind  Fiddler— 
Dumbarton  Rock — An  Adventure — “  On  Leven’s  Banks  ” — Loch  Lomond — Yoyago 
up  the  Lake — Anecdotes — Sailing  on  a  Meadow — The  Ascent  of  Ben  Lomond— 
Yiew  from  the  Summit — The  Descent — Highland  Scenery — Loch  Katrine — The 
Boatmen — Trip  down  the  Lake — Ellen’s  Isle — The  Trosachs — The  Inn  of  Ard- 
cheancrochan,  . . 41 


CHAPTER  Y. 

Morning  on  Loch  Katrine — Walk  to  Stirling — Out-door  Life — The  Burns  Festival- 
Preparations— Journey  to  Ayr— The  “  Twa  Brigs  ’’—The  Streets  of  Ayr— Scotch 
Beggars— An  Incideni>-The  Burns  Cottage— Alloway  Kirk— English  Exclusiveness 
—The  Sister  and  Sons  of  Burns— Lord  Eglintoun— Professor  Wilson— The  Proces¬ 
sion-Performance  of  Tam  O’Shanter — The  Burns  Monument— Speech  of  Robert 
Burns— An  Anecdote  of  the  Poet— Crowd  at  the  Station— Return  to  Glasgow,  85 


Xll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Ride  to  Edinburgh — The  Monumental  City — Lost  and  Found — Seeing  Edinburgh— 
The  March  Resumed — The  Muirfoot  Hills — American  Books  at  Melrose — Wading 
the  Tweed — Abbotsford — The  Armory  and  Library — Scott’s  Study — A  “Prospect” 
Recovered — Ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey — Teviot  Dale — Jedburgh — Over  the  Border — 
Scenery  of  the  Cheviots — Appreciative  Tourists — Shepherds  on  Chevy  Chase — The 
Moorland — A  Night  at  Whelpington  Knowes — Walk  to  Newcastle — Cheap  Lodgings 
— The  Roman  Wall — Miners  in  Distress — Passage  for  London — A  Meeting — The 
Voyage — The  Thames  at  Night — London  at  Dawn, . 64 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Entering  London — Cheap  Lodgings  and  Bad  Company — The  Thoroughfares — St. 
Paul’s — View  from  the  Dome — St.  James’s  Park — Westminster  Abbey — Poet's 
Corner — Tombs  of  Sovereigns — Hall  of  the  Bath — The  Thames  Tunnel — The  Iowas 
again — The  Parks — Crime  and  Misery  in  London — The  End  of  our  Sojourn — Cost 
of  the  Tour  through  Scotland, . 79 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Feelings  on  Visiting  the  Continent — Imprisonment  at  Dover — Arrival  at  Ostend — 
A  Stroll — The  Streets  of  Bruges — The  Cathedral — The  Belfry  and  its  Chimes — 
A  Night  on  the  Canal — Ghent — A  Rainy  Ride — Scenery  of  the  Meuse — Entering 
Prussia — Aix-la-Chapelle — The  Cathedral — The  Tomb  of  Charlemagne — The  Ca¬ 
thedral  of  Cologne — Tradition  of  its  Plan — The  Smells  of  the  Streets,  .  .  88 

CHAPTER  IX. 

In  Heidelberg — The  Star  Hotel  at  Bonn — Passing  the  Drachenfels — Coblentz  and 
Ehrenbreitstein — The  Charms  of  the  Rhine — Lurlei  Rock  and  its  Echo — A  Rainbow 
at  Oberwesel — Mayence — Ride  to  Fraukfort — Hunting  an  Address — Mr.  Richard  S. 
Willis — The  Festival  at  Darmstadt — Scenery  of  the  Bergstrasse — German  Peasants — 
Fellow  Passengers— Heidelberg  at  Sunset — A  Resting  Place,  .  .  .  .96 

CHAPTER  X. 

Rooms  in  Heidelberg — The  Landlady — View  from  our  Window — The  Valley  of  the 
Neckar — Heidelberg  Castle — The  Towers — The  Great  Tun — The  Wrolfsbrunnen — 
An  Afternoon  Party — Ascent  of  the  Heiligenberg — The  Pastor  of  Zeigelhausen— 
The  University  Library — A  Wedding — Conscripts — German  Cookery  and  Cus¬ 
toms — The  Melibochus — The  Sea  of  Rocks — The  Giant’s  Column — Return,  .  105 

i.  CHAPTER  XI. 

Removal  to  Frankfort — A  German  Parting — Twilight  on  the  Mountains — The  Inn  of 
Elsbach — A  frosty  Morning — A  Village  Fair — The  Castle  of  Erbach — Historical 
Armor — An  Antiquarian  Theft — Curiosity  of  the  Peasants — Castle  of  the  Wild 
Huntsman — An  Old  Peasant — The  Emigrant  Family, . 117 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Frankfort  and  its  Associations — Our  Quarters — Mr.  Richard  S.  Willis — The  Market- 
Women — Inauguration  of  the  Statue  of  Goethe — The  Streets  of  Frankfort — Tho 
Main  Bridge— The  Golden  Cock — Weather — Baron  Rothschild — The  Promenades— 
Celebration  of  the  Vintago — The  Poet  Freiligrath,  .  .  .  •  •  ,  125 


CONTENTS. 


Xlll 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  Walk  to  Heidelberg— Winter  Journey — A  Commers— The  Red  Fisherman— The 
Hall  of  Assembly— The  Students — Songs  and  Speeches — The  Ceremony  of  the 
LcvndsfatJier — Gervinus  and  Schlosser — A  Duel  at  Neuenheim— Its  Result— Charac¬ 
ter  of  the  Students, . . 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

Expenses  of  the  First  Six  Months  Abroad— Prospects  for  the  Future— Christmas  In 
Germany— The  Christmas  Booths— Visit  of  St.  Nicholas— Preparations  for  Christ¬ 
mas — Excitement  among  the  Children — Christmas  Eve — The  Christmas  Tree 

Poetry  of  the  Festival — Welcome  to  the  New  Year— Scene  in  the  Streets,  143 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Sports  on  the  Ice — Lessing’s  Picture  of  Huss — The  Eschernheim  Tower — Severity 
of  the  Winter— Sufferings  of  Men  and  Beasts— My  Winter  Life— Matteus  and  the 
Stove— Hopes  of  Spring— The  Fair— Picturesque  Crowds — A  Vender  of  Blacking 
— Rise  of  the  Main — The  City  Inundated— Sachsenhausen  under  Water — A  Day  of 
Sunshine — Faces  in  the  Streets — German  Beauty — The  Flood  Increases — Devasta¬ 
tion — The  River  Falls — An  Explosion— German  Fire-Engines  and  Firemen,  .  149 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Beauty  of  Spring— The  Frankfort  Cemetery— Precautions  against  Burying 
Alive— Monument  by  Thorwaldsen— The  Speaking  Deaf— Manner  of  Healing  them 
— Story  of  a  Boy — The  Hall  of  the  Emperors — Mendelssohn,  the  Composer — Seeing 
him  in  a  Crowd — Interview  with  him — His  Personal  Appearance  and  Conversation 

163* 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Leaving  Frankfort— Plan  of  our  German  Tour— The  Country  in  Spring— A  “  Fighting” 
Journeyman— Giessen— The  Valley  of  the  Lahn— Foot-travelling  in  Hesse  Cassel— 
A  Village  Inn — A  Tattling  Boy — Mountain  Scenery — Meeting  with  Students — The 
City  of  Cassel — Carl,  the  Student — Walk  to  the  Wilhelmshohe — The  Giant’s  Castle-— 
Cascades  and  F ountains, . 172 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Parting  from  Carl — The  Town  of  Miinden — Illness — Gottingen,  and  a  Physician- 
Approach  to  the  Hartz — Osterode — Entering  the  Mountains — Wild  Scenery — A 
Stormy  Night — Climbing  the  Brocken — A  Snow  Storm — Perilous  Travelling — The 
Brocken  House — The  Spectre — Peeps  through  the  Clouds — Descent  of  the  Brocken 
— Valleys  of  the  Hartz — The  Rosstrappe — The  Landlady’s  Legend — Walk  to  Hal- 
berstadt— A  Suspicious  Inn — The  Sleeping  Chamber — Anticipation  of  Murder — 
Relief, . 180 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Magdeburg — Suspected  Passengers — Leipsic — View  of  the  Battle-Field — The  Rosen¬ 
thal— Schiller’s  Room — Auerbach’s  Cellar — Leipsic  Publishers— Gerstacker — Charms 
of  Dresden — The  Picture  Gallery — The  Madonna  di  San  Sisto — Monument  to 
Moreau — The  Royal  Library — The  Green  Vaults — Cages  of  Gems — Royal  Play¬ 
things,  .  . . .  194 


CONTENTS. 


xiv 


CHAPTER  XX. 

i 

Farewell  to  Dresden — The  King  of  Saxony— Beauty  of  the  Country— Sunken  Glens— 
The  Uttewalder  Grund— Precipice  of  the  Bastei — Effects  of  the  Inundation — The 
Fortress  of  Kdnigstein — Anecdote  of  a  Baron — A  Mountain  Valley — A  Cascade 
Show — The  Kuhstall — The  Little  Winterberg — Cloudy  Landscapes — The  Prebisch- 
thor— Entering  Austria— Bohemian  Scenery — The  Battle-Field  of  Kulm — The 
Baths  of  Teplitz — Plains  of  the  Elbe — Distant  View  of  Prague,  .  .  .  203 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Impressions  of  Prague— Past  and  Present— The  Mol  dan  Bridge— Johannes  of  Nepo- 
muck — A  Day  Dream — The  Cathedral— The  Shrine  of  Nepomuck— Jesuitical 
Music— An  Attack  of  Jews— The  Old  Hebrew  Cemetery,  ....  215 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Scenery  of  Bohemia — The  Inhabitants — Wayside  Shrines — Disgusting  Images — 
Devotion  of  the  People— Iglau— The  Peasant  Girls — Bohemian  Teams — A  Religions 
Pageant— A  New  Companion— His  Astonishment — Lodging  with  the  Lancers — The 
City  of  Znaim— Talk  with  the  Handwerker— Rain— A  Drunken  Baron — Summer 
Scenery— First  View  of  the  Alps— The  Valley  of  the  Danube— Arrival  at  Vienna, 

222 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Vienna — The  Ferdinand’s  Bridge — The  Streets — The  Old  City — The  Suburbs — Beau¬ 
ty  of  the  Prater — St.  Stephen's  Cathedral — The  Belvidere  Gallery — The  Lower 
Belvidere — Historical  Relics — The  Respectful  Custode — The  Iron  Stick — Strauss 
and  his  Band— The  Tomb  of  Beethoven — Galleries  of  Art — The  Imperial  Library 
— Cabinet  of  Natural  History — State  Carriages  of  Austria — Prince  Liechtenstein's 
Gallery — Correggio’s  Venus  and  Cupid — The  Imperial  Armory — The  Crusty  Custode 
—A  Pole — Relics  of  the  Past — Banners  of  the  Crusaders — A  Scene  at  the  Police 
Office — Light  Hearts  and  Empty  Purses, . 232 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  Strong  Wind — The  Palace  of  Schonbrunn — The  Abbey  of  Melk — The  Luxury  of 
Foot-Travel— American  Scenery — Rencontre  with  Bohemian  Gipsies — Danubian 
Landscapes — The  Styrian  Alps — Holy  Florian — Votive  Shrines — Linz  and  its  Towers 
— More  Money  Wanted — Lambach — A  Mountain  Portrait — Falls  of  the  Traun — Bat¬ 
tle-Field  of  the  Unknown  Student, . 249 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Lake  of  Gmunden — Among  the  Alps — The  Lumber  Business — The  Baths  of  Ischl 
—St.  Wolfgang— Climbing  the  Schafberg — Lost — The  Track  of  an  Avalanche — 
Walking  over  a  Forest— Panorama  from  the  Summit — Descent  to  St.  Gilgen — An 
Alpine  Eden — The  Shoemaker  and  his  Wife — “  Footsteps  of  Angels” — The  Valley 
of  Salzburg— The  Alps  —The  Boy  of  the  Mountain — Sights  in  Salzburg — Entering 
Bavaria— People  and  Scenery— Wasserburg— Field  of  Hohenlinden — Arrival  at 
Munich— An  Enthusiastic  Acquaintance, . *  25S 


CONTENTS. 


XV 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  Splendor  of  Munich — King  Ludwig’s  Labors— The  Ludwigstrasse — The  Library 
— The  Church  of  St.  Louis — Monument  to  Eugene  Beauharnois — The  Parks  on  the 
Isar— The  New  Residence— Magnificence  of  its  Halls — Hall  of  the  Throne — The 
King’s  Apartments — The  Royal  Chapel — A  Picture  of  Devotion — The  Glyptothek 
— Its  Sculptures — The  Son  of  Niobe — The  Pinacothek — A  Giant — The  Basilica — 
Schwanthaler’s  Studio — History  of  an  Artisan — Condition  of  our  Finances,  .  2T1 

0 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  Railroad  to  Augsburg— Traces  of  Ancient  Splendor — Walk  to  Him — Entering 
Wiirtemburg— Seeking  Lodgings  in  the  Rain— The  “  Golden  Wheel” — Funds — 
Good-bye  to  the  Alps— The  Valley  of  the  Fils — The  Suabian  Land — Arrival  at 
Stuttgard — Thorwaldsen’s  Statue  of  Schiller — The  Bewildered  Omnibus  Driver- 
Walking  in  the  Rain— Ludwigsburg— Empty  Pockets— Beauty  of  the  Zabergau— 
The  Last  Night— Approaching  Heidelberg — Familiar  Scenes — The  Castle — An  End 
of  Hardship — A  Student’s  Burial — Return  to  Frankfort — A  Midnight  Farewell,  284 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

On  the  way  to  Italy— Meeting  with  a  Neighbor— A  Talk  with  the  Farmers— Journey 
to  Freiburg— The  Minster — Market  Day— The  New  Railroad— The  Institute  for 
the  Blind — The  Grand  Duchess  Stephanie — The  Kingdom  of  Heaven— The  Valley 
of  Hell— Natives  of  the  Black  Forest— Climbing  the  Feldberg— Scenery  of  the  Black 
Forest— The  Alps  again — We  enter  Switzerland— Schaff  hausen— The  Falls  of  the 
Rhine,  .  .  .  .  .<  . . 296 

i 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Canton  Zurich — The  Country  and  People— The  City  of  Zurich — Its  Promenades — 
Friendly  Greetings — Walk  along  the  Lake  Shore — The  Alp-Glow — The  Grave  of 
Ulrich  von  Hutten — Freiligrath,  the  Banished  Poet — The  Alps  in  the  Rain — Ein- 
siedeln — The  Cathedral  and  Pilgrims — Music — Alpine  Scenery — The  Slide  of  the 
Rossberg — Schwytz — The  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons — The  Meadow  of  Griitli — Tells 
Chapel— Altorf— Night  in  the  Valley  of  the  Reuss, .  305 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

An  Alpine  Day — Chasm  of  the  Reuss— The  Devil’s  Bridge — Andermatt — Climbing 
the  St.  Gothard — Summit  of  the  Pass— A? Rapid  Descent  into  Italy — Valley  of  the 
Ticino — Rugged  Scenery — Southern  Vegetation— Vineyards — Italian  Experiences— 
Junction  with  the  Spliigen  Road — Bacchus — On  Lago  Maggiore — The  Borromean 
Isles— Landing  in  Lombardy — An  Italian  Landlord — Arrival  at  Milan,  .  .  317 

\ 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

The  Streets  of  Milan — The  Duomo— Its  Interior— Art  based  on  Nature — Italian 
Priestcraft — The  Arch  of  Peace — Financial  Distress — Relieved  by  a  German 
Lawyer— Thunder  Storms— Lions  in  Pavia— Crossing  the  Po— Magnificent  View 
of  the  Alps— The  Second  Day’s  Travel— An  Italian  Sunset — A  Pinta  of  Wine-^ 
Morning— Pilgrim  Travel — First  View  of  the  Mediterranean — The  Descent  to 
Genoa, .  ......  827 


XVI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

G«noa  at  Sunset — Appearance  of  the  City — A  Religious  Procession  —  Anothei 
Financial  Difficulty — Embarking  for  Leghorn — A  Night  at  Sea —  Morning  in  Tus¬ 
cany —Landing— A  Polyglott  Population— The  Ardenza— Criminals  at  Work— My 
Comrades  Relieved— Approach  to  Pisa— The  City— The  Leaning  Tower -The 
Echo  in  the  Baptistery— The  Campo  Santo— A  Vetturino  for  Florence— An 
Italian  Companion-— Night- Journey  in  tfie  Rain — Florence  at  Last,  .  ,  .  339 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Rooms  in  Florence— Cost  of  Living— The  Royal  Gallery— The  Venus  de  Medici — 
Titian  and  Raphael— Michael  Angelo— The  Hall  of  Niobe — Value  of  Art  to  Italy — 
A  Walk  to  Fiesole — View  of  Val  d’Arno — Ancient  Roman  Theatre — Etruscan 
Walls — The  Tombs  of  Santa  Croce — The  Pitti  Palace — Titian’s  “Bella” — The  Ma¬ 
donna  della  Bedia — Michael  Angelo's  “Fates” — The  Boboli  Gardens — Royal  and 
Republican  Children,  .  . .  351 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A  Pilgrimage  to  Vallombrosa — The  Valley  of  the  Arno — Rain — Tuscan  Peasants — 
Pellago  —  Associations — Climbing  the  Mountain  —  Pastoral  Scenery  —  Monastic 
Wealth— Arrival  at  Vallombrosa — An  Italian  Panorama — The  Paradisino—  An 
Escape  from  the  Devil — A  Capture  by  the  Devil— The  Chapel— Milton  in  Italy — 
Departure  from  Vallombrosa — Evening  cn  the  Mountain  Side — The  Charms  of 
Italy, .  .....  362 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A  Walk  to  Siena — The  Landlady — The  Inn  at  Querciola — Siena  and  its  Cathedral- 

Parting  from  F - The  Grapes  of  Italy — The  Dome  of  the  Duomo — Climbing 

in  the  Dark — A  Cathedral  Scene — Walk  to  Pratolino — The  Vintage — The  Colossus 
of  the  Appenines — The  Grand  Duke’s  Farm — Degeneracy  of  the  Modern  Italians — 
The  Joy  of  Travel — The  Races  at  the  Cascine — The  Holy  Places  of  Florence — The 
Anatomical  Museum — American  Artists  in  Florence — Progress  of  American  Art — 
Brown — Kellogg — Greenough — Ives — Mozier — Powers — The  Statue  of  Eve — The 
Fisher  Boy — Ibrahim  Pasha  in  Florence — Tuscan  Winter — Galileo’s  Tower — Our 
Financial  Experiences — Relief— The  Memory  of  Pleasure  and  Privation — An  Inci 
dent — Boat  Voyage  on  the  Arno — Amateur  Starvation — The  Ascent  oi  Monte 
Morello— The  Chapel  of  the  Medici — A  Farewell  Meditation,  .  .  871 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Departure  from  Florence— Rain  among  the  Appenines — The  Inn  at  Cucina— Talks 
with  the  Tuscan  Peasants — Central  Italy — Arezzo — Italian  Country  Inns — Engaging 
a  Calesino — Lake  Thrasymene— The  Battle-field — Night-Ride  to  Perugia— Journey 
to  Foligno — Vale  of  the  Clitumnus — Our  Fellow  Passengers — Spoleto  and  Monto 
Somma— Temi  without  the  Cascade — Nami — Otricoli— Travelling  by  Vetturino— 
Soracte  at  Sunset — Walking  with  the  Dragoon — The  Campagna — First  Sight  of  St. 
Peter’s— Entering  Rome — The  Pantheon  by  Starlight — The  Dragoon  s  Adieu — 
Rome,  .  .  ’  .  .  .  ,  .  .  . 894 


CONTENTS. 


•  •  • 
xvu 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 


The  First  Day  in  Rome— The  Corso— We  find  the  Forum— Trajan's  Column— Papal 
Profanation— St.  Peter’s  Found— The  Square  and  Obelisk— The  Interior  of  St« 
Peter’s— The  Galleries  of  the  Yatican— Statues— Ancient  Arb— Hemicycle  of  the 
Belvidere — The  Laocoon— The  Divine  Apollo— New  Year’s  Day  in  Rome— The 
Quirinal  Hill— St.  John  Lateran— The  Temple  of  Yesta— The  Pyramid  of  Cestius— 
The  Tombs  of  Keats  and  Shelley— The  Ruins  of  Rome— The  Coliseum  at  Sunset- 
Mausoleum  of  Augustus— Crawford’s  Studio— The  Square  of  the  Pantheon— Pro¬ 
fane  and  Pious  Beggars— The  Trattoria  del  Sole — Impressions  of  Roman  Ruins— 
The  Coliseum  by  Moonlight, . 407 


CHAPTER  XXXYIII.  < 

Excursion  to  Tivoli— A  Sulphur  Bath— The  Temple  of  the  Sibyl— A  Windy  Night— 
The  Cascade  of  the  Anio — The  Cascatelles— The  Campagna— Museum  of  the 
Capitol — The  Dying  Gladiator — Ruins  on  the  Campagna — Tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella 
—The  Aqueducts— Egeria’s  Grotto — The  Yilla  Borghese— Tasso’s  Tomb — Passport 
Fees  in  Italy— The  Turning  Point  of  the  Pilgrimage — Farewell  l  .  .  .  423 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Departure  from  Rome — The  Campagna — The  Shore  of  the  Mediterranean — Civita 
Yecchia — The  handsome  Sailor — Disadvantage  of  not  being  Servants — Embarking 
— Sleeping  on  Deck — Elba  and  Corsica  by  Moonlight — Second  Night  on  the  Deck 
—A  Rainy  Day  at  Genoa — A  Stormy  Night — A  Sailor’s  Compassion — The  Coast 
of  France — Approach  to  Marseilles — The  Two  Servants — Marseilles — Our  Circum¬ 
stances.  . 432 

CHAPTER  XL. 

The  Hills  of  Provence — Rainy  Travel — A  night  at  Aix — Provencal  Scenery — The 
Mother  of  Soldiers — Bivouac  at  Senas — The  Yalley  of  the  Sorgues — Approach  to 
Yaucluse — The  Fountain  of  Yaucluse — More  Rain — A  Gleam  of  Sunshine — Avignon 
— The  Blacksmith’s  Shop — Economical  Travel — The  Kindness  of  the  Poor — Roman 
Remains  at  Orange — Travel  up  the  Rhone — A  Soldier’s  Camp — Daybreak  Scene — • 
Valence — The  Rhone — A.  Night  at  Yienne — Approach  to  Lyons — A  Quandary — 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Ferrand — The  Mistrust  of  Poverty — Experiences  in  Lyons 
—Gloomy  Days — Le  Cachot — The  Sixth  Day — The  Letter — A  Plan  to  Borrow  a  Franc 
—The  Relief— Excitement — A  Marvellous  Change, . 440 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

The  Pleasure  of  Rest— Leaving  Lyons-— Yoyage  up  the  Saone — An  Inundation— The 
Strolling  Musicians  and  their  Child— Walking  in  Burgundy — The  Upland  Region 
— A  Drenching  Storm — Slow  Ride  to  Auxerre — Miseries  of  a  Country  Diligence— 
The  Bloody  Seine — Arrival  at  Paris— Getting  a  Draft  Paid — Seeing  Paris  perforce — 
Letters  from  Home . 457 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Rooms  to  Let — A  disappointed  Landlord — Our  Apartment,  chez  Lambert — Living  on 
a  Franc  a  Day — Amusements — The  Streets  of  Paris — The  Place  de  la  Concorde — 
The  Hotel  des  Invalides — The  Garden  of  the  Tuileries — What  we  saw— The  Ameri 
can  Minister — An  Experience  of  Suicide — Empty  Pockets  again — The  Sick  Mer* 
chant — Lying  in  Wait — The  Relief— I  Determine  to  visit  London,  .  .  464 


XV11I 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Leaving  Paris— Versailles — Travel  in  March — The  Suspicious  Landlord— The  Scenery 
of  Normandy — Rouen — The  Vale  of  the  Cailly — A  Windy  Night — 1  Hail  the  Atlantic 
—A  Night  at  Dieppe — Crossing  the  Channel — From  Brighton  to  London.  ,  473 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

My  Circumstances — Lodgings  in  Aldgate — Visits  to  the  Printers — Illiberal  Rules  of 
the  Craft — Dodging  a  Landlord — Success  and  Failure — Happy  and  Penniless — Visit 
to  Mr.  Putnam — The  Mistrust  of  Poverty — Employment  at  Last — Life  in  Aldgate 
— Letters  of  Introduction — A  Breakfast  with  Lockhart — Bernard  Barton— Croly — 
Daniel  O’Connell,  and  a  Temperance  Meeting— Trip  to  Greenwich— The  “  Fun  of 
the  Fair  ” — Games  in  the  Park— Greenwich  Hill— Ground  and  Lofty  Tumbling— A 
Swinging  Experiment— London  Atmosphere— A  Fog — Arrival  of  Money  and 
Friends— Embarking  for  Home, . 478 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Quarters  on  Ship-board — Passage  through  the  Channel— Portsmouth— The  Voyage 
Home— Excitement  of  Return — Landing— Land  Sights  and  Scents — The  Last  Day 
of  the  Pilgrimage — Approaching  Home— The  Lighted  Window— Requisites  for  a 
Pedestrian  Journey— Travelling  on  Small  Allowance — Cost  of  Sleeping — The  Knap¬ 
sack — Manner  of  Travel— Open-Air  Life — A  Pedestrian’s  Equipment— Books — 
Sketching — German  Students— Companions— Ignorance  concerning  America— 
Hotels  —  Country  Taverns  —  Passports  —  Funds  —  Personal  Safety — Comparative 
Expense  of  Different  Countries— Statement  of  my  Expenses— Farewell,  .  49? 


*1 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY, 

An  enthusiastic  desire  of  visiting  the  Old  World  haunted 
me  from  early  childhood.  I  cherished  a  presentiment, 
amounting  to  positive  belief,  that  I  should  one  day  behold 
tfie  scenes,  among  which  my  fancy  had  so  long  wandered. 
When  a  boy  of  ten  years  I  read  Willis’s  “  Pencillings  by  the 
Yf&y.”  as  they  appeared  from  week  to  week  in  the  country 
Newspaper,  and  the  contemplation  of  those  charming  pictures 
of  scenery  and  society  filled  me  with  a  thousand  dreams  and 
aspirations.  I  wandered  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediter¬ 
ranean,  while  hoeing  corn  or  tending  cattle  in  my  father’s 
fields ;  the  geography  of  Europe  and  the  East  was  at  my 
tongue’s  end,  and  the  confidence  with  which  I  spoke  of 
going  to  London,  and  Paris,  and  Eome,  often  subjected  me 
to  the  ridicule  of  my  schoolfellows.  But  this  confidence 


18 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


was  too  settled  for  either  ridicule  or  reason  to  shake  in  the 
slightest  degree. 

In  my  fifteenth  year,  a  little  book  entitled  “  The  Tourist 
in  Europe,”  written  by  Mr.  George  P.  Putnam,  fell  into  my 
hands.  In  addition  to  lively  sketches  of  a  summer  trip  on 
the  continent,  it  contained  the  programmes  of  several  Euro¬ 
pean  tours,  with  statements  of  the  time,  expenses,  and  other 
details  of  travel,  which  furnished  me  with  a  basis  whereon  to 
construct  my  own  plans.  The  want  of  means  was  a  serious 
check  to  my  anticipations ;  but  I  could  not  content  myself 
to  wait  until  I  had  slowly  accumulated  so  large  a  sum  as 
tourists  usually  expend.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  more  hum¬ 
ble  method  of  seeing  the  world  would  place  within  the 
power  of  almost  every  one,  what  had  hitherto  been  deemed 
the  privilege  of  the  wealthy  few.  Meanwhile,  two  years 
passed  away,  and  I  became  an  apprentice  to  the  printing 
business  in  the  neighboring  county  town.  Howitt’s  “  Rural 
Life  in  Germany,”  which  appeared  about  this  time,  confirm¬ 
ed  me  in  my  ideas,  and  I  resolved  to  delay  no  longer,  but 
to  undertake  a  pedestrian  tour  through  Europe,  as  soon  as 
I  could  obtain  sufficient  means  to  start  with.  It  was  not 
simply  the  desire  for  a  roving  life  which  impelled  me  ;  it 
was  the  wish  to  become  acquainted  with  other  languages 
and  other  races ;  to  behold  the  wonders  of  classic  and 
mediaeval  Art ;  to  look  upon  renowned  landscapes  and  feel 
the  magic  of  grand  historical  associations ;  in  short,  to 
educate  myself  more  completely  and  variously  than  my 
situation  and  circumstances  enabled  me  to  do  at  home. 

With  this  view,  I  wrote  to  several  gentlemen  who  had 
made  the  tour  of  Europe,  requesting  information  and  advice. 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 


19 


Without  a  single  exception  they  answered  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  travel  according  to  the  estimates  I  had  made, 
or  without  the  possession  of  sums,  which  then  appeared  to 
me  fortunes  in  themselves.  I  was  not  discouraged  by  their 
replies,  but,  although  I  was  entirely  without  money  and 
could  not  see  where  it  was  to  come  from,  felt  myself  con¬ 
tinually  drawing  nearer  to  the  realization  of  my  hopes. 
Finally,  in  January,  1844,  my  cousin,  Dr.  Frank  Taylor, 
announced  his  determination  to  visit  Europe,  and  urged  me 
to  accompany  him.  I  had  still  two  years  of  my  apprentice¬ 
ship  to  serve ;  the  project  was  opposed  by  my  friends  as 

* 

something  utterly  visionary  and  impracticable  ;  my  cousin 
had  barely  sufficient  means  for  himself,  and  my  pockets 
were  as  empty  as  they  could  well  be  ;  but  I  decided  to  go. 

For  some  months  previous,  I  had  been  publishing  from 
time  to  time  occasional  boyish  poems,  which  had  procured 
me  the  kind  encouragement  of  Dr.  Griswold,  who  was  then 
editor  of  “  Graham’s  Magazine,”  and  of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis, 
who  was  conducting  the  “  New  Mirror.”  The  former  gen¬ 
tleman  had  advised  me  to  commence  my  literary  career  with 
a  small  volume  of  these  effusions,  and  the  idea  came  into 
my  head  that  by  so  doing,  I  might — on  the  strength  of  some 
inherent  promise  in  the  poems — obtain  a  newspaper  corre¬ 
spondence  which  would  start  me  on  my  way.  My  friends, 
whose  personal  kindness  exceeded,  for  the  time,  their  lite¬ 
rary  taste,  subscribed  for  a  sufficient  number  of  copies  to 
defray  the  expense  of  publication,  and  in  the  following 
month,  a  small  volume  of  very  crude  verses  appeared.  It 
was  charitably  noticed  by  the  Philadelphia  press,  however, 
and  subserved  my  plans  by  introducing  me  to  the  acquaint- 


20 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ance  of  several  literary  gentlemen,  who  promised  to  aid  me 
with  their  influence.  Trusting  to  this  faint  prospect  of 
‘procuring  employment,  I  made  preparations  to  leave  the 
printing-office,  which  I  fortunately  accomplished  without 
difficulty,  the  editor  being  willing  to  release  me  from  my 
engagement  on  conditions  which  I  was  able  to  fulfil. 

Another  friend  and  schoolfellow,  Mr.  Barclay  Pennock 
(whose  recently  published  “  Religion  of  the  Northmen”  has 
made  his  name  known  to  the  literary  world),  joined  my 
cousin  and  myself,  and  we  at  once  began  to  prepare  for  our 
departure.  I  made  many  applications  to  different  editors, 
and  met  with  nothing  but  disappointment.  Europe  was 
already  becoming  familiar  to  the  reading  public,  and  merely 
descriptive  letters,  although  not  yet  a  drug  in  the  literary 
market,  were  no  longer  in  the  same  demand  as  formerly. 
Two  weeks  before  the  day  fixed  upon  for  leaving  home,  I 
had  secured  no  employment,  and  did  not  possess  a  dollar 
towards  my  outfit.  I  then  went  to  Philadelphia  and  spent 
two  or  three  days  in  calling  upon  all  the  principal  editors 
and  publishers  of  the  city,  but  I  seemed  doomed  to  be 
unsuccessful.  At  last,  when  I  was  about  to  return  home, 
not  in  despair,  but  in  a  state  of  wonder  as  to  where  my 
funds  would  come  from  (for  I  felt  certain  they  would  come), 
Mr.  Patterson,  at  that  time  publisher  of  the  Saturday  Eve¬ 
ning  Post,  offered  me  fifty  dollars,  in  advance  for  twelve 
letters,  with  the  promise  of  continuing  the  engagement,  if 
the  letters  should  be  satisfactory.  The  Hon.  Joseph  R. 
Chandler,  editor  of  the  United  States  Gazette,  then  made 
me  a  similar  offer.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  instantly  and 
joyfully  accented  both,  and  thus  found  myself  in  possession 


INTRODUCTORY"  CHAPTER.  21 

»  / 

of  one  hundred  dollars.  Mr.  George  It.  Graham  also  paid 
me  liberally  for  some  manuscript  poems,  and  I  returned 
home  in  triumph,  with  a  fund  of  one  hundred  and  forty 
dollars,  which  at  that  time  seemed  sufficient  to  carry  me  to 
the  end  of  the  world. 

Our  plan  was  to  spend  a  year  and  a  half  in  Europe,  and 
I  trusted  implicitly  to  future  remuneration  for  letters  for 
my  means,  or,  if  that  should  fail,  to  my  skill  as  a  composi¬ 
tor,  for  I  supposed  I  could  at  the  worst  work  my  way 
through  Europe,  like  the  German  handwerksbursche?i.  *  My 
parents,  who  had  good  reason  to  look  upon  the  project  at 
first  as  the  mad  whim  of  a  boy,  were  encouraged  by  this 
first  success,  and  their  reluctant  consent  removed  the  only 
shadow  that  hung  over  my  dazzling  hopes ;  but  many  good 
old  country  friends  shook  their  heads  gravely,  predicting 
that  we  would  all  return  as  repentant  prodigals,  in  less  than 
six  months.  Our  slender  preparations  were  soon  made. 
My  cousin  and  myself  travelled  on  foot  to  Washington, 
called  on  Mr.  Calhoun,  then  Secretary  of  State,  procured 
our  passports,  and  walked  home  again.  We  took  no  more 
baggage  than  we  could  carry  in  our  hands,  for,  as  we  antici¬ 
pated  being  obliged  to  practise  the  strictest  economy,  we 
determined  to  commence  with  the  very  moment  of  leaving 
home.  Towards  the  close  of  June  the  farewells  were  said, 
and  we  went  with  light  hearts,  and  by  the  cheapest  route, 
to  New  York. 

I  called  at  once  upon  Mr.  Willis,  who  sympathized  with 
my  own  enthusiasm,  and  strengthened  me  with  his  hearty 
encouragement.  He  gave  me  a  note  of  recommendation, 
with  which  I  visited  the  editors  of  the  leading  journals,  but 


22 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


failed  to  make  any  further  engagements,  except  a  condi¬ 
tional  one  with  Horace  Greeley,  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 
When  I  first  called  upon  this  gentleman,  whose  friendship 
it  is  now  my  pride  to  claim,  he  addressed  me  with  that 
honest  bluntness  which  is  habitual  to  him  :  “  I  am  sick  of 
descriptive  letters,  and  will  have  no  more  of  them.  But  I 
should  like  some  sketches  of  German  life  and  society,  after 
you  have  been  there  and  know  something  about  it.  If  the 
letters  are  good,  you  shall  be  paid  for  them,  but  don’t  write 
until  you  know  something.”  This  I  faithfully  promised, 
and  kept  my  promise  so  well,  that  I  am  afraid  the  eighteen 
letters  which  I  afterwards  sent  from  Germany,  and  which 
were  published  in  the  Tribune,  were  dull  in  proportion  as 
they  were  wise.  Mr.  Willis  also  gave  me  letters  to  some 
printers  of  his  acquaintance  in  London,  thinking  they  might 
be  useful  in  case  I  should  be  compelled  to  resort  to  my 
handicraft. 

Our  first  plan  was  to  take  passage  to  some  continental 
port,  and  we  spent  two  days  in  visiting  the  vessels  in  the 
North  and  East  Rivers,  but  could  find  none  in  which  the 
fare  was  less  than  fifty  dollars.  We  were  on  the  point  of 
embarking  in  a  Dutch  vessel,  bound  for  Antwerp,  the  cap¬ 
tain  of  which  agreed  to  take  us  for  that  sum,  after  Mr.  Wil¬ 
lis  had  interceded  with  the  consignees  in  our  behalf ;  but  as 
we  afterwards  found  we  should  be  obliged  to  furnish  our 
own  bedding  and  incur  various  other  expenses,  we  relin¬ 
quished  this  chance,  calculating  that  a  steerage  passage  to 
England  would  cost  us  but  half  the  money,  while  the 
remaining  twenty -five  dollars  would  support  us  for  at  least 
a  month  after  our  arrival.  We  therefore  took  what  was 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 


23 


tlien  called  a  second-cabin  passage,  in  the  ship  Oxford,  for 
Liverpool.  The  second-cabin  was  a  small  space  amid-ships, 
flanked  with  bales  of  cotton,  and  fitted  up  with  temporary 
berths  of  rough  planks.  We  paid  ten  dollars  apiece  for  the 
passage,  with  the  privilege  of  finding  our  own  bedding  and 
provisions.  At  a  warehouse  of  ships’  stores  on  Pine  street 
wharf  we  found  everything  that  we  needed,  and  received 
great  assistance  from  the  salesman,  who  Calculated  with  per- 
feet  honesty  and  exactness  what  articles  we  should  need, 
and  what  quantity  of  each.  In  our  inexperience  we  should 
probably  have  gone  to  sea  but  half  supplied.  The  ship’s 
cook,  for  a  small  compensation,  undertook  to  prepare  our 
provisions,  thus  relieving  us  from  one  of  the  most  disagreea¬ 
ble  necessities  of  a  second-class  passage.  On  summing  up 
our  expenses  we  were  gratified  to  find  that  we  should  reach 
Liverpool  at  a  cost  of  twenty-four  dollars  apiece. 

On  the  1st  of  July,  1844,  we  left  New  York,  sending  a 
last  hastily  pencilled  note  by  the  pilot,  to  our  relatives  at 
home.  As  the  blue  hills  of  Neversink  faded  away  and 

sank  with  the  sun  behind  the  ocean,  and  I  first  felt  the 

A, ' 

swells  of  the  Atlantic  and  the  premonitions  of  sea-sickness, 
my  heart  failed  me,  for  the  first  and  last  time.  The  irre¬ 
vocable  step  was  taken ;  there  was  no  possibility  of  retreat, 
and  a  vague  sense  of  doubt  and  alarm  possessed  me.  Had 
I  then  known  anything  of  the  world  this  feeling  would  have 
been  more  than  momentary ;  but  to  my  ignorance  and 
enthusiasm  all  things  seemed  possible,  and  the  thoughtless 
and  happy  confidence  of  youth  soon  returned. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  VOYAGE. 

The  Second  Cabin— Our  Fellovr  Passengers — Sea  Life — The  Banks  of  Newfoundland- 
Black  Fish — Unfavorable  Weather — The  Iowa  Indians — Their  Songs  and  Dances — 
Baising  the  Wind — Off  the  Hebrides — First  Sight  of  Land — Scenery  of  the  North 
Channel — A  Burial  at  Sea — The  Isle  of  Man — Approach  to  Liverpool — Objects  on 
Landing — A  Bace  for  the  Custom  House — A  Day  in  Liverpool. 


The  second  cabin  of  the  Oxford  was  just  abaft  the  main¬ 
mast.  A  hatchway,  barely  large  enough  to  admit  a  man’s 

body,  communicated  with  the  deck,  or  rather,  with  that 

« 

portion  of  it  which  we  were  allowed  to  frequent.  Below, 
there  were  eight  berths  and  nine  passengers,  two  of  whom 
were  therefore  obliged  to  turn  in  together.  The  lot  fell 
upon  my  cousin  and  myself,  and  as  the  berths  were  barely 
wide  enough  for  one,  and  not  more  than  five  feet  long.  I 
suffered  nightly  tortures  from  cramped  limbs.  Our  only 
light  came  through  the  hatch,  which  was  battened  down  in 
stormy  weather,  leaving  us  in  almost  total  darkness,  with  a 
horrid  sense  of  suffocation.  Our  box  of  stores,  with  a  bag 
of  potatoes,  were  stowed  under  the  berths,  and  our  barrel  of 
pilot-bread  served  as  a  seat.  Our  fellow-passengers  were  a 


OUR  FELLOW  PASSENGERS.  25 

motley  company.  There  was  an  intelligent  German  student, 
with  a  pale,  melancholy  face  ;  a  wild  young  Englishman, 
evidently  of  good  family,  but  a  runaway  and  heartily  tired 
of  sailor  life ;  an  honest  Scotch  woman,  who  had  been  two 
years  in  Vermont;  two  Irish  grocers,  and  one  of  those  indi¬ 
viduals  whose  characters  are  colorless,  and  whose  presence 
is  almost  as  blank  as  the  memory  of  them.  We  were  soon 
on  familiar  terms,  and  did  our  best  to  dissipate,  by  harmless 
jollity,  the  annoyances  of  our  situation.  The  German, 
whose  whole  stock  of  provisions  consisted  of  ten  pounds  of 
soda  crackers  and  a  few  lemons,  was  soon  thrown  upon  our 
hospitality,  which  he  accepted  with  a  readiness  that  made 
him  welcome.  The  Scotch  woman,  who  entertained  us  with 
legends  of  “  that  terrible  man,  Graham  of  Claverhouse,,, 
shared  also  with  us  her  store  of  Vermont  gingerbread,  as 
long  as  it  lasted.  The  Englishman  sat  down  beside  us  with 
his  platter,  and  encouraged  a  mutual  exchange  of  delicacies  ; 
but  I  must  d<?  the  Irish  grocers  the  justice  to  say  that  they 
took  care  of  themselves  and  were  satisfied.  Capt.  Rathbone, 
the  commander  of  the  Oxford,  was  a  fine  specimen  of  the 
hearty,  generous  sailor  character,  and  never  ceased  to  treat 
us  with  kindness.  He  gave  us  the  use  of  the  cabin  library, 
and  ordered  the  steward  to  supply  us  with  any  article  we 
might  need. 

Could  one  live  on  the  sense  of  beauty  alone,  exempt 
from  the  necessity  of  creature  comforts,  a  sea-voyage  would 
be  delightful.  To  the  landsman  there  is  sublimity  in  the 
wild  and  ever-varied  forms  of  the  ocean  ;  they  fill  his  mind 
with  living  images  of  a  glory  he  had  only  dreamed  of  before. 

But  after  a  fortnight  at  sea  we  would  have  been  willing  to 

2 


26 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


forego  all  tliis  and  get  back  the  comforts  of  the  shore.  The 
days  dragged  on  so  slowly  that  as  we  approached  the  Euro¬ 
pean  side  of  the  world,  the  space  of  a  lifetime  seemed  to 
separate  us  from  the  experiences  of  home. 

As  we  approached  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  a  gale 
arose,  which  for  two  days  and  nights  carried  us  on,  career' 
ing  Mazeppa-like,  up  hill  and  down.  The  sea  looked  truly 
magnificent,  although  the  sailors  told  us  it  was  nothing  at  all 
in  comparison  with  the  storms  of  winter.  But  we  were  not 
permitted  to  pass  the  Banks,  without  experiencing  one  of 
the  calms,  for  which  that  neighborhood  is  noted.  For  three 
days  we  lay  almost  motionless  on  the  glassy  water,  some¬ 
times  surrounded  by  large  flocks  of  sea-gulls.  The  weed 
brought  by  the  Gulf  Stream  floated  around,  and  the  branches 

'we  fished  up  were  full  of  beautiful  little  shells.  Once  a 

« 

large  school  of  black-fish  came  around  the  vessel,  and  the 
carpenter  climbed  down  on  the  fore-chains  with  a  harpoon, 
to  strike  one.  Scarcely  had  he  taken  his  position,  when 

4 

they  all  darted  off  in  a  straight  line,  through  the  water,  and 
were  soon  out  of  sight.  He  gravely  declared  they  had 
smelt  the  harpoon. 

We  congratulated  ourselves  on  having  reached  the  Banks 
in  seven  days,  as  it  is  considered  the  longest  third-part  of 
the  passage.  But  the  hopes  of  reaching  Liverpool  in 
twenty  days,  were  soon  overthrown.  A  succession  of 
southerly  winds  drove  the  vessel  as  far  north  as  Lat.  55°, 
without  bringing  us  much  nearer  our  destination.  It  was 
extremely  cold,  for  we  were  but  five  degrees  south  of  the 
latitude  of  Greenland,  and  the  long  northern  twilights  came 
on.  The  last  glow  of  the  evening  twilight  had  scarcely 


INDIANS  AT  SEA. 


27 


faded,  before  the  first  glimmering  of  dawn  appeared.  I 
found  it  extremely  easy  to  read,  at  10  P.  M.,  on  the  deck. 

We  had  much  diversion  on  board  from  a  company  of 
Iowa  Indians,  under  the  celebrated  chief  “  White  Cloud/ ' 
who  were  on  a  visit  to  England.  They  were  truly  a  wild 
looking  company,  and  helped  not.  a  little  to  relieve  the 
tedium  of  the  passage.  The  chief  was  a  very  grave  and 
dignified  person,  but  some  of  the  braves  were  merry  enough. 
One  day  we  had  a  war-dance  on  deck,  which  was  a  most 
ludicrous  scene.  The  chief  and  two  braves  sat  upon  their 
haunches,  beating  a  small  drum  violently,  and  howling  forth 
their  war-song,  while  the  others  in  full  dress,  painted  in  a 
grotesque  style,  leaped  about,  brandishing  tomahawks  and 
spears,  and  terminating  each  dance  with  a  terrific  yell.  Some 
of  the  men  were  quite  handsome,  but  the  squaws  were  all 
ugly.  They  occupied  part  of  the  second  cabin,  separated 
only  by  a  board  partition  from  our  room.  This  proximity 
was  anything  but  agreeable.  They  kept  us  awake  more 
than  half  the  night,  by  singing  and  howling  in  the  most 
dolorous  manner,  with  the  accompaniment  of  slapping  their 
hands  violently  on  their  bare  breasts.  We  tried  an  opposi¬ 
tion,  and  the  German  made  our  room  ring  with  the  chorus 
from  Der  Freischiitz — but  in  vain.  They  would  howl  and 
beat  their  breasts,  and  the  pappoose  icould  squall.  Any  loss 
of  temper  is  therefore  not  to  be  wondered  at,  when  my 
cramped  limbs  alone  were  enough  to  drive  off  half  the  night’s 
slumber. 

It  was  a  pleasure,  at  least,  to  gaze  on  their  strong  athletic 
frames.  Their  massive  chests  and  powerful  limbs  put  to 
shame  our  lean  proportions.  One  old  man,  in  particular, 


28 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


who  seemed  the  patriarch  of  the  band,  used  to  stand  for 
hours  on  the  quarter-deck,  sublime  and  motionless  as  a 
statue  of  Jupiter.  An  interesting  incident  occurred  during 
the  calm  of  which  I  spoke.  They  began  to  be  fearful  we 
were  doomed  to  remain  there  forever,  unless  the  spirits  were 
invoked  for  a  favorable  wind.  Accordingly  the  prophet  lit 
his  pipe  and  smoked  with  great  deliberation,  muttering  all 
the  while  in  a  low  voice.  Then,  having  obtained  a  bottle  of 
beer  from  the  captain,  he  poured  it  solemnly  over  the  stern 
of  the  vessel  into  the  sea.  There  were  some  indications  of 
wind  at  the  time,  and  accordingly  the  next  morning  we  had 
a  fine  breeze,  which  the  Iowas  attributed  solely  to  the 
Prophet’s  incantation  and  the  offering  of  beer. 

After  a  succession  of  calms  and  adverse  winds,  on  the 
25th  we  were  off  the  Hebrides,  and  though  not  within  sight 
of  land  the  southern  winds  came  to  us  strongly  freighted 
with  the  meadow  freshness  of  the  Irish  bogs,  so  we  could  at 
least  smell  it.  That  day  the  wind  became  more  favorable, 
and  the  next  morning  we  were  all  roused  out  of  our  berths 
by  sunrise,  at  the  long  wished-for  cry  of  “land!”  Just 
under  the  golden  flood  of  light  that  streamed  through  the 
morning  clouds,  lay  afar-off  and  indistinct  the  crags  of  an 
island,  with  the  top  of  a  light-house  visible  at  one  extremity. 
To  the  south  of  it,  and  barely  distinguishable,  so  completely 
was  it  blended  in  hue  with  the  veiling  cloud,  loomed  up  a 
lofty  mountain.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sight.  As  we  drew 
nearer,  the  dim  and  soft  outline  it  first  wore,  was  broken  into 
a  range  of  crags,  with  lofty  precipices  jutting  out  to  the  sea, 
and  sloping  off  inland.  The  white  wall  of  the  light-house 
shone  in  the  morning’s  light,  and  the  foam  of  the  breakers 


THE  NORTH  CHANNEL. 


29 


dashed  up  at  the  foot  of  the  airy  cliffs.  It  was  worth  all  the 
troubles  of  a  long  voyage,  to  feel  the  glorious  excitement 
which  this  herald  of  new  scenes  and  new  adventures  created. 
The  light-house  was  on  Tory  Island,  on  the  north-western 
coast  of  Ireland.  The  captain  decided  on  taking  the  North 
Channel,  as  it  was  in  our  case  nearer,  as  well  as  more  interest¬ 
ing  than  the  usual  route. 

We  passed  the  Island  of  Ennistrahul,  near  the  entrance 
of  Londonderry  harbor,  and  at  sunset  saw  in  the  distance 
the  islands  of  Islay  and  Jura,  off  the  Scottish  coast.  Next 
morning  we  were  close  to  the  promontory  of  Fairhead,  a 
bold,  precipitous  headland,  like  some  of  the  Palisades  on  the 
Hudson  ;  the  highlands  of  the  Mull  of  Cantire  were  on  the 

4 

opposite  side  of  the  Channel,  and  the  wind  being  ahead,  we 
tacked  from  shore  to  shore,  running  so  near  the  Irish  coast, 
that  we  could  see  the  little  thatched  huts,  stacks  of  peat, 
and  even  rows  of  potatoes  in  the  fields.  It  was  a  cheering 
panorama  :  the  view  extended  for  miles  inland,  and  the 
fields  of  different  colored  grain  were  spread  out  before  us,  a 
brilliant  mosaic.  Towards  evening  we  passed  Ailsa  Crag, 
the  sea-birds’  home,  within  sight,  though  about  twenty  miles 
distant.  Some  fishermen  came  off  to  us,  towards  evening, 
and  we  succeeded  in  exchanging  a  few  pounds  of  pilot  bread 
for  fresh  fish,  which,  fried  by  our  black  cook,  made  us  a 
feast  fit  for  the  Gods.  Our  provisions,  which  had  held  out 
remarkably  well,  were  almost  entirely  exhausted,  and  this 
unexpected  supply  was  as  welcome  to  us  as  the  loaves  and 
fishes  to  the  famished  multitude. 

On  Sunday,  the  28tli,  we  passed  the  lofty  headland  of  the 
Mull  of  Galloway  and  entered  the  Irish  Sea.  Here  there 


30 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


was  an  occurrence  of  an  impressive  nature.  A  woman 
belonging  to  the  steerage,  wlio  had  been  ill  the  whole  pas¬ 
sage,  died  the  morning  before.  She  appeared  to  be  of  a  very 
avaricious  disposition,  though  this  might  indeed  have  been 
the  result  of  a  laudable  self-denial.  In  the  morning  she  was 
speechless,  and  while  they  were  endeavoring  to  persuade  her 
to  give  up  her  keys  to  the  captain,  died.  In  her  pocket  were 
found  two  parcels,  containing  forty  sovereigns,  sewed  up  with 
the  most  miserly  care.  It  was  ascertained  she  had  a  widowed 
mother  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  and  judging  her  money 
could  be  better  applied  than  to  paying  for  a  funeral  on 
shore,  the  captain  gave  orders  for  committing  the  body  to  the 
waves.  It  rained  drearily  as  her  corpse,  covered  with  starred 
bunting,  was  held  at  the  gangway  while  the  captain  read  the 
funeral  service ;  then  one  plunge  w^as  heard,  and  a  white  ob¬ 
ject  flashed  up  through  the  dark  waters,  as  the  ship  passed  on. 

In  the  afternoon  we  passed  the  Isle  of  Man,  having  a 
beautiful  view  of  the  Calf,  with  a  white  stream  tumbling 
down  the  rocks  into  the  sea  ;  and  at  night  saw  the  sun  set 
behind  the  mountains  of  Wales.  About  midnight,  the  pilot 
came  on  board,  and  soon  after  sunrise  I  saw  the  distant 
spires  of  Liverpool.  The  Welsh  coast  was  studded  with 
windmills,  all  in  motion,  and  the  harbor  spotted  with  buoys, 
bells  and  floating  lights.  How  delightful  it  was  to  behold 
the  green  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Mersey,  and  to  know 
that  in  a  few  hours  we  should  be  on  land !  About  1 1 
o’clock  we  came  to  anchor  in  the  channel  of  the  Mersey, 
near  the  docks,  and  after  much  noise,  bustle  and  confusion, 
were  transferred,  with  our  baggage,  to  a  small  steamboat, 

f 

giving  a  parting  cheer  to  the  Iowas,  who  remained  on  board. 


A  RACE  FOR  THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE. 


31 


On  landing,  I  halted  a  moment  to  observe  the  scene.  The 
baggage-wagons,  drawn  by  horses,  mules  and  donkeys,  were 
extraordinary  objects  to  my  eyes  ;  men  were  going  about 
crying  “  the  celebrated  Tr alo rum  gingerbread  !”  which  they 
carried  in  baskets,  and  a  boy  with  long  blue  gown  and  yel¬ 
low  knee-breeches,  was  running  to  the  wharf  to  look  at  the 
Indians.  A  man  came  up  to  me,  exclaiming,  “  These  are  the 
genuine  Tralorums!”  and  hunger  (for  our  supplies  were  all 
gone),  combined  with  curiosity,  induced  me  to  purchase  some 
of  them.  I  was  not  in  a  good  condition  to  discriminate,  but 
I  found  the  Tralorums  worthy  of  their  great  renown. 

At  last,  the  carts  were  all  loaded,  the  word  was  given  to 
start,  and  then,  what  a  scene  ensued  !  Away  went  the 
mules,  the  horses  and  the  donkeys  ;  away  ran  men  and 
women  and  children,  carrying  chairs  and  trunks,  and  boxes 
and  bedding.  The  wind  was  blowing,  and  the  dust  whirled 
up  as  they  dashed  helter-skelter  through  the  gate  and 

started  off  on  a  hot  race,  down  the  dock  to  the  customs 

_ \ 

office.  Two  wagons  came  together,  one  of  which  was  over¬ 
turned,  scattering  the  broken  boxes  of  a  Scotch  family  over 
the  pavement ;  but  while  the  poor  woman  was  crying  over 
her  loss,  the  tide  swept  on,  scarcely  taking  time  to  glance  at 
the  mishap. 

The  wild  Englishman  advised  us  to  go  to  the  Chorley 
Tavern,  where  we  could  get  a  good  dinner.  On  finding  a 
porter  who  knew  where  it  was,  we  trusted  ourselves  entirely 
to  his  guidance.  Taking  our  baggage,  he  signified  by  a 
mysterious  sign,  that  we  should  follow  him,  and  marched 
directly  into  the  city.  We  had  gone  about  a  hundred  yards 
and  had  lost  sight  of  the  Custom  House,  when  one  of  the 


32 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


i 

officers  came  up  at  full  speed  and  commanded  us  to  return 
and  submit  our  baggage  to  the  usual  examination.  I  antici¬ 
pated  a  rough  handling,  but  everything  we  had  was  passed 
with  little  trouble,  the  officer  merely  opening  the  trunks  and 
pressing  his  hands  on  the  top.  Even  some  American 
reprints  of  English  works  which  my  companion  carried,  and 
feared  would  be  taken  from  him,  were  passed  over  without 
a  word.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  at  this,  as  from  the 
accounts  of  some  travellers,  I  had  been  led  to  fear  horrible 
things  of  custom-houses.  This  over,  we  took  a  stroll  about 
the  city.  I  was  first  struck  by  seeing  so  many  people 
walking  in  the  middle  of  the  streets,  and  so  many  gentlemen 
going  about  with  pinks  stuck  in  their  button-holes.  Then, 
the  houses  being  all  built  of  brown  stone  or  dark  brick, 
gives  the  town  a  sombre  appearance,  which  the  sunshine 
(when  there  is  any)  cannot  dispel.  Of  Liverpool  we  saw 
little  except  that  bountiful  dinner  at  the  Chorley  Tavern — a 
meal  ever  to  be  remembered.  Before  the  twilight  had 
wholly  faded,  we  were  again  tossing  on  the  rough  waves  of 
the  Irish  Sea. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  DAY  IN  IRELAND. 

Leaving  Liverpool— The  Second  Cabin  again — Irish  Fellow  Passengers — The  Channel 
— The  Northern  Coast  of  Ireland — Port  Kush — A  Rainy  Day — An  Irish  Hut— 
Dunluce  Castle — Rain  and  Ruin — The  Giant's  Causeway — The  Giant’s  Well — 
Basaltic  Columns — The  Giant’s  Organ,  and  Chimneys — A  Coast  Scene — The  Shoro 
at  Night — Wandering  in  the  Storm — Return  to  Port  Rush. 

Instead  of  going  directly  to  London,  we  decided  to  take 
Scotland  in  our  way,  as  the  season  was  favorable  for  a  pedes¬ 
trian  tour  in  the  Highlands.  But  there  was  no  boat  to 
leave  for  Glasgow  for  two  days,  and  rather  than  spend  the 
time  uselessly  in  Liverpool,  we  embarked  on  board  a  small 
steamer  for  Londonderry,  which  was  to  stop  at  Port  Bush, 
near  the  Giant’s  Causeway.  The  German  student,  who  was 
bound  for  Paris,  sent  his  baggage  to  Havre,  retaining  only  a 
knapsack,  and  joined  us  for  the  trip.  We  also  forwarded 
our  portmanteaus  to  London,  and  took  with  us  only  the  most 
necessary  articles  of  clothing.  On  calling  at  the  steamboat 
office  we  found  that  the  fare  in  the  fore  cabin  was  hut  two 

’  wT.  * 

shillings  and  a  half,  while  in  the  chief  cabin  it  was  six  times 

as  much.  As  I  had  started  to  make  the  tour  of  all  Europe 
-  2* 


34 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


with  a  sum  little  higher  than  is  given  for  the  mere  passage 
across  the  ocean,  there  was  no  alternative — the  twenty-four 
hours’  discomfort  could  be  more  easily  endured  than  the 
expense,  and  as  I  expected  to  encounter  many  hardships,  it 
was  best  to  make  a  beginning.  I  had  crossed  the  ocean 
with  tolerable  comfort  for  twenty-four  dollars,  and  wTas 
determined  to  try  whether  England,  where  I  had  been  told 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  breathe  without  expense,  might 
not  also  be  seen  on  the  same  scale  of  expenditure.  We 
accordingly  took  our  tickets,  and  laid  in  a  stock  of  bread 
and  cheese  for  provision  on  the  way. 

The  fore  cabin  was  merely  a  bare  room,  with  a  bench 
along  one  side,  which  was  occupied  by  half  a  dozen  Irish¬ 
men  in  knee-breeches  and  heavy  brogans.  As  we  passed 
out  of  the  Clarence  Dock  at  10  P,  M.,  I  went  below  and 
managed  to  get  a  seat  on  one  end  of  the  bench,  where  I 
spent  the  night  in  sleepless  misery.  The  Irish  bestowed 
themselves  about  the  floor  as  they  best  could,  for  there  was 
no  light,  and  very  soon  the  deepness  of  their  snoring  gave 
token  of  blissful  unconsciousness. 

The  next  morning  was  misty  and  rainy,  but  I  preferred 
walking  the  deck  and  drying  myself  occasionally  beside  the 
chimney,  to  sitting  in  the  dismal  room  below.  T\  e  passed 
the  Isle  of  Man,  and  through  the  whole  forenoon  were 
tossed  about  very  disagreeably  in  the  North  Channel.  In 
the  afternoon  we  stopped  at  Larne,  a  little  antiquated  village, 
not  far  from  Belfast,  at  the  head  of  a  crooked  arm  of  the 
sea.  There  is  an  old  ivy-grown  tower  near,  and  high  green 
mountains  rise  up  around.  After  leaving  it,  we  had  a  beau¬ 
tiful  panoramic  view  of  the  northern  coast.  Many  of  the 


AN  IRISH  HUT. 


J 


35 


precipices  are  of  the  same  formation  as  the  Causeway  j 
Fairhead,  a  promontory  of  this  kind,  is  grand  in  the  extreme. 
The  perpendicular  face  of  fluted  rock  is  about  three  hundred 
feet  in  height,  and  towering  up  sublimely  from  the  water, 
seemed  almost  to  overhang  our  heads.  My  companion  com¬ 
pared  it  to  Niagara  Falls  petrified ;  and  I  thought  the  simile 
very  striking.  It  is  like  a  cataract  falling  in  huge  waves, 
in  some  places  leaping  out  from  a  projecting  rock,  in  others 
descending  in  an  unbroken  sheet. 

We  passed  the  Giant’s  Causeway  after  dark,  and  about 
eleven  o’clock  reached  the  harbor  of  Port  Push,  where,  after 
stumbling  up  a  strange  old  street,  in  the  dark,  we  found  a 
little  inn,  and  soon  forgot  the  Irish  Coast  and  everything 
else. 

In  the  morning  when  we  arose  it  was  raining,  with  little 
prospect  of  fair  weather,  but  having  expected  nothing  better, 
we  set  out  on  foot  for  the  Causeway.  The  rain,  however, 
soon  came  down  in  torrents,  and  we  were  obliged  to  take 
shelter  in  a  cabin  by  the  road- side.  The  whole  house  con¬ 
sisted  of  one  room,  with  bare  walls  and  roof,  and  earthen 
floor,  while  a  window  of  three  or  four  panes  supplied  the 
light.  A  fire  of  peat  was  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  the 
breakfast,  of  potatoes  alone,  stood  on  the  table.  The  occu¬ 
pants  received  us  with  rude  but  genuine  hospitality,  giving 
us  the  only  seats  in  the  room  to  sit  upon  ;  except  a  rickety 
bedstead  that  stood  in  one  corner  and  a  small  table,  there 
was  no  other  furniture  in  the  house.  The  man  appeared 
rather  intelligent,  and  although  he  complained  of  the  hard¬ 
ness  of  their  lot,  had  no  sympathy  with  O’Connell  or  the 
Repeal  movement. 


36 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


We  left  this  miserable  hut  as  soon  as  it  ceased  raining— 
and,  though  there  were  many  cabins  along  the  road,  few 
were  better  than  this.  At  length,  after  passing  the  walls  of 
an  old  church,  in  the  midst  of  older  tombs,  we  saw  the  roof¬ 
less  towers  of  Dunluce  Castle,  on  the  sea-shore.  It  stands 
on  an  isolated  rock,  rising  perpendicularly  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea,  and  connected  with  the  cliffs  of  the  mainland 
by  a  narrow  arch  of  masonry.  On  the  summit  of  the  cliffs 
are  the  remains  of  the  buildings  where  the  ancient  lords 
kept  their  vassals.  An  old  man,  who  takes  care  of  the  cas¬ 
tle  for  Lord  Antrim,  on  whose  property  it  is  situated,  show¬ 
ed  us  the  way  down  the  cliff.  We  walked  across  the 
narrow  arch,  entered  the  ruined  hall,  and  looked  down  on  the 
roaring  sea  below.  It  still  rained,  the  wind  swept  furiously 
through  the  decaying  arches  of  the  banqueting  hall  and 
waved  the  long  grass  on  the  desolate  battlements.  Far 
below,  the  sea  foamed  white  on  the  breakers  and  sent  up  an 
unceasing  boom.  It  was  the  most  mournful  and  desolate 
picture  I  had  ever  beheld.  There  were  some  low  dungeons 
yet  entire,  and  rude  stairways,  where,  by  stooping  dowm,  I 
could  ascend  nearly  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers,  and 
look  out  on  the  wild  scenery  of  the  coast. 

Going  back,  I  found  a  way  down  the  cliff,  to  the  mouth  of 
a  cavern  in  the  rock,  which  extends  under  the  whole  castle 
to  the  sea.  Sliding  down  a  heap  of  sand  and  stones,  I  stood 
under  an  arch  eighty  feet  high  ;  in  front  the  breakers  dashed 
into  the  entrance,  flinging  the  spray  half-way  to  the  roof, 
while  the  sound  rang  up  through  the  arches  like  thunder. 
It  seemed  to  me  the  haunt  of  the  old  Norse  sea-gods  ! 

We  left  the  road  near  Dunluce  and  walked  along  the 


37 


THE  GIANT’S  CAUSEWAT. 

smooth  beach  to  the  cliffs  that  surround  the  Causeway. 
Here  we  obtained  a  guide,  and  descended  to  one  of  the 
caves  which  can  be  entered  from  the  shore.  Opposite  the 
entrance  a  bare  rock  called  Sea  Gull  Isle,  rises  out  of  the 

_  V 

sea  like  a  church  steeple.  The  roof  at  first  was  low,  but  we 
shortly  came  to  a  branch  that  opened  on  the  sea,  where  the 
arch  was  forty-six  feet  in  height.  The  breakers  dashed  far 
into  the  cave,  and  flocks  of  sea-birds  circled  round  its  mouth. 
The  sound  of  a  gun  was  like  a  deafening  peal  of  thunder, 
crashing  from  arch  to  arch  till  it  rolled  out  of  the  cavern. 

On  the  top  of  the  hill  a  spacious  hotel  is  erected  for  visi¬ 
tors  to  the  Causeway  ;  after  passing  this  we  descended  to 
the  base  of  the  cliffs,  which  are  here  upwards  of  four  hun- 

A 

dred  feet  high,  and  soon  began  to  find,  in  the  columnar 
formation  of  the  rocks,  indications  of  our  approach  to  the 
spot.  The  guide  pointed  out  some  columns  which  appeared 
to  have  been  melted  and  run  together,  from  which  Sir  Hum¬ 
phrey  Davy  attributed  the  formation  of  the  Causeway  to  the 
action  of  fire.  Near  this  is  the  Giant’s  Well,  a  spring  of  the 
purest  water,  the  bottom  formed  by  three  perfect  hexagons, 
and  the  sides  of  regular  columns.  One  of  us  observing  that 
no  giant  had  ever  drunk  from  it,  the  old  man  answered — 
“  Perhaps  not :  but  it  was  made  by  a  giant — God  Almighty  !” 

From  the  well,  the  Causeway  commences— a  mass  of 
columns  from  triangular  to  octagonal,  lying  in  compact  forms, 
and  extending  into  the  sea.  I  was  somewhat  disappointed 
at  first,  having  supposed  the  Causeway  to  be  of  great  height, 
but  I  found  the  Giant’s  Loom,  which  is  the  highest  part  of 
it,  to  be  but  about  fifty  feet  from  the  water.  The  singular 
appearance  of  the  columns  and  the  many  strange  forms 


38 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


which  they  assume,  render  it,  nevertheless,  an  object  of  the 
greatest  interest.  Walking  out  on  the  rocks  we  came  to  the 
Ladies’  Chair,  the  seat,  back,  sides  and  footstool,  being  all 
regularly  formed  by  the  broken  columns.  The  guide  said 
that  any  lady  who  would  take  three  drinks  from  the  Giant’s 
Well,  then  sit  in  this  chair  and  think  of  any  gentleman  for 
whom  she  had  a  preference,  would  be  married  before  a 
twelvemonth.  I  asked  him  if  it  would  answer  as  well  for 
gentlemen,  for  by  a  wonderful  coincidence  we  had  each 
drunk  three  times  at  the  well !  He  said  it  would,  and 
thought  he  was  confirming  his  statement. 

A  cluster  of  columns  about  half-way  up  the  cliff  is  called 
the  Giant’s  Organ — from  its  very  striking  resemblance  to 
that  instrument,  and  a  single  rock,  worn  by  the  waves  into 
the  shape  of  a  rude  seat,  is  his  chair.  A  mile  or  two  further 
along  the  coast,  two  cliffs  project  from  the  range,  leaving  a 
vast  semicircular  space  between,  which,  from  its  resemblance 
to  the  old  Roman  theatres,  was  appropriated  for  that  pur¬ 
pose  by  the  Giant.  Half-way  down  the  crags  are  two  or 
three  pinnacles  of  rock,  called  the  Chimneys,  and  the 
stumps  of  several  others  can  be  seen,  which,  it  is  said,  were 
shot  off  by  a  vessel  belonging  to  the  Spanish  Armada,  in 
mistake  for  the  towers  of  Dunluce  Castle.  The  vessel  was 
afterwards  wrecked  in  the  bay  below,  which  has  ever  since 
been  called  Spanish  Bay,  and  in  calm  weather  the  wreck 
may  be  still  seen.  Many  of  the  columns  of  the  Causeway 
have  been  carried  off  and  sold  as  pillars  for  mantels — and 
though  a  notice  is  put  up  threatening  persons  with  the  rigor 
of  the  law,  depredations  are  occasionally  made. 


THE  SHORE  AT  NIGHT. 


39 


Returning,  we  left  the  road  at  Dunluce,  and  took  a  path 
which  led  along  the  summit  of  the  cliffs.  The  twilight  was 
gathering  and  the  wind  blew  with  great  fury,  which,  com¬ 
bined  with  the  black  and  stormy  sky,  gave  the  coast  an  air 
of  extreme  wildness.  All  at  once,  as  we  followed  the  wind¬ 
ing  path,  the  crags  appeared  to  open  before  us,  disclosing  a 

r 

yawning  chasm,  down  which  a  large  stream,  falling  in  an 
unbroken  sheet,  was  lost  in  the  gloom  below.  Witnessed  in 
a  calm  day,  there  may  perhaps  be  nothing  striking  about  it, 
but  coming  upon  us  at  once,  through  the  gloom  of  twilight, 
with  the  sea  thundering  below  and  a  scowling  sky  above,  it 
was  absolutely  startling. 

The  path  at  last  wound,  with  many  a  steep  and  slippery 
bend,  down  the  almost  perpendicular  crags,  to  the  shore,  at 
the  foot  of  a  giant  isolated  rock,  having  a  natural  arch 
through  it,  eighty  feet  in  height.  We  followed  the  narrow 
strip  of  beach,  having  the  bare  crags  on  one  side  and  a  line 
of  foaming  breakers  on  the  other.  It  soon  grew  dark ;  a 
furious  storm  came  up  and  swept  like  a  hurricane  along  the 
shore.  I  then  understood  what  Horne  means  by  “the 
lengthening  javelins  of  the  blast,”  for  every  drop  seemed  to 
strike  with  the  force  of  an  arrow,  and  our  clothes  were  soon 
pierced  in  every  part. 

Then  we  went  up  among  the  sand  hills,  and  lost  each 
other  in  the  darkness,  when,  after  stumbling  about  among 
the  gullies  for  half  an  hour,  shouting  for  my  companions,  I 
found  the  road  and  heard  my  call  answered  ;  but  it  happen¬ 
ed  to  be  two  Irishmen,  who  came  up  and  said — “  And  is  it 
another  gintleman  ye're  callin'  for?  we  heard  some  one 
cryin',  and  didn’t  know  but  somebody  might  be  kilt.” 


40 


VIEWS  A  FOOT. 


Finally,  about  eleven  o’clock  we  all  arrived  at  the  inn, 
dripping  with  rain,  and  before  a  warm  fire  concluded  the 
adventures  of  our  day  in  Ireland. 


« 


/ 


CHAPTER  IY. 

¥ 

BEK  LOMOND  AND  THE  HIGHLAND  LAKES, 

« 

\  x. 

Passage  to  Greenock — The  Deck  Passengers — Arrival  at  Night — The  Blind  Fiddler--- 

i 

Dumbarton  Rock — An  Adventure — “  On  Leven’s  Banks  ” — Loch  Lomond — Voyage 
up  the  Lake — Anecdotes — Sailing  on  a  Meadow — The  Ascent  of  Ben  Lomond*- 
Yiew  from  the  Summit — The  Descent — Highland  Scenery — Loch  Katrine — Th* 
Boatmen — Trip  down  the  Lake — Ellen’s  Isle — The  Trosachs — The  Inn  of  Ard- 
cheancrochan. 

The  steamboat  Londonderry  called  the  next  day  at  Port 
Rush,  and  we  left  in  her  for  Greenock.  We  ran  down  the 
Irish  coast,  past  Dunluce  Castle  and  the  Causeway  ;  the 
Giant’s  Organ  was  very  plainly  visible,  and  the  winds  were 
strong  enough  to  have  sounded  a  storm  song  upon  it.  Far¬ 
ther  on  we  had  a  distant  view  of  Carrick-a-Rede,  a  precipi¬ 
tous  rock,  separated  by  a  yawning  chasm  from  the  shore, 
frequented  by  the  catchers  of  sea-birds.  A  narrow  swing¬ 
ing  bridge,  which  is  only  passable  in  calm  weather,  crosses 
this  chasm,  two  hundred  feet  above  the  water. 

The  deck  of  the  steamer  was  crowded  with  Irish,  and  cer¬ 
tainly  gave  no  very  favorable  impression  of  the  condition 
of  the  peasantry  of  Ireland.  On  many  of  their  counte- 


42 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


nances  there  was  scarcely  a  mark  of  intelligence  ;  they  were 
a  most  brutalized  and  degraded  company  of  beings.  Many 
of  them  were  in  a  beastly  state  of  intoxication,  which,  from 
the  contents  of  the  pockets  of  some,  was  not  likely  to 
decrease.  As  evening  drew  on,  two  or  three  began  singing, 
and  the  others  collected  in  groups  around  them.  One  of 
them,  who  sang  with  great  spirit,  was  loudly  applauded,  and 
poured  forth  song  after  song,  of  the  most  vulgar  and  inde¬ 
cent  character. 

We  took  a  deck  passage  for  three  shillings,  in  preference 
to  paying  twenty  for  the  cabin,  and  having  secured  a  vacant 
place  near  the  chimney,  kept  it  during  the  whole  passage. 
The  waves  were  as  rough  in  the  Channel  as  I  had  seen  them 
on  the  Atlantic,  and  our  boat  was  tossed  about  like  a  play¬ 
thing.  By  keeping  still,  we  escaped  sickness,  but  we  could 
not  avoid  the  sight  of  the  miserable  beings  who  crowded 
the  deck.  Many  of  them  spoke  in  the  Irish  tongue,  and 
our  German  friend  (the  student  whom  I  have  already  men¬ 
tioned)  noticed  in  many  of  the  words  a  resemblance  to  his 
mother  tongue.  I  procured  a  bowl  of  soup  from  the  stew¬ 
ard,  but  it  was  so  greasy  and  repulsive  that  1  was  unable  to 
eat  it,  and  gave  it  to  an  old  man  whose  hungry  look  and 
wistful  eyes  convinced  me  it  would  not  be  lost  on  him.  He 
swallowed  it  with  ravenous  avidity,  together  with  a  crust  of 
bread,  which  was  all  I  had  to  give  him,  and  seemed  for  the 
time  as  happy  and  cheerful  as  if  all  his  earthly  wants  were 
satisfied. 

We  passed  by  the  foot  of  Goat  Fell,  a  lofty  mountain  on 
the  island  of  Arran,  and  sped  on  through  the  darkness  past 
the  hills  of  Bute,  till  we  entered  the  Clyde.  We  arrived  at 


THE  BLIND  TIDDLER. 


43 


Greenock  at  one  o’clock  at  night.  All  the  houses  were 
closed,  and  we  walked  for  some  time  at  random  through  its 
silent  streets,  until  we  met  a  policeman,  to  whom  we  stated  our 
case,  and  asked  him  to  show  us  where  we  might  find  cheap 
lodgings.  He  took  my  cousin  and  myself  to  the  house  of  a 
poor  widow,  who  had  a  spare  bed  which  she  let  to  strangers, 
and  then  conducted  our  comrade  and  the  German  to  another 
similar  lodging-place. 

An  Irish  strolling  musician,  who  was  on  hoard  the  Dum¬ 
barton  boat,  commenced  playing  soon  after  we  left  Greenock 
next  morning,  and,  to  my  surprise,  struck  at  once  into  “  Hail 
Columbia.”  Then  he  gave  ‘the  Exile  of  Erin,”  with  the 
most  touching  sweetness  ;  and  I  noticed  that  always  after 
playing  any  air  that  was  desired  of  him,  he  would  invariably 
return  to  the  sad  lament,  which  I  never  heard  executed  with 
more  feeling.  It  might  have  been  the  mild,  soft  air  of  the 
morning,  or  some  peculiar  mood  of  mind  that  influenced  me, 
but  1  have  been  far  less  affected  by  music  which  would  be 
considered  immeasurably  superior  to  his.  I  had  been  think¬ 
ing  of  America,  and  going  up  to  the  old  man,  I  quietly  bade 
him  play  “  Home.”  It  thrilled  with  a  painful  delight  that 
almost  brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  My  companion  started  as 
the  sweet  melody  arose,  and  turned  towards  me,  his  face 
kindling  with  emotion. 

Dumbarton  Rock  rose  higher  and  higher  as  we  went  up 
the  Clyde,  and  before  we  arrived  at  the  town  I  hailed  the 
dim  outline  of  Ben  Lomond,  rising  far  off  among  the  high¬ 
lands.  The  town  is  at  the  head  of  a  small  inlet,  a  short 
distance  from  the  rock,  which  was  once  surrounded  by  water. 
We  went  immediately  to  the  Castle.  The  rock  is  nearly 


44 


views  A-Focrr. 


500  feet  high,  and  from  its  position  and  great  strength  as  a 
fortress  has  been  called  the  Gibraltar  of  Scotland.  The 
top  is  surrounded  with  battlements,  and  the  armory  and 
barracks  stand  in  a  gap  between  the  two  peaks.  We  passed 
down  a  green  lane,  around  the  rock,  and  entered  the  Castle 
on  the  south  side.  A  soldier  conducted  us  through  a  narrow 
cleft,  overhung  with  crags,  to  the  summit.  Here,  from  the 
remains  of  a  round  building,  called  Wallace's  Tower,  from 
its  having  been  used  as  a  look-out  station  by  that  chieftain, 
we  had  a  beautiful  view  of  the  whole  of  Leven  Yale  to 
Loch  Lomond,  Ben  Lomond  and  the  Highlands,  and  on  the 
other  hand,  the  Clyde  and  the  Isle  of  Bute.  In  the  soft 
and  still  balminess  of  the  morning,  it  was  a  lovely  picture. 
In  the  armory,  I  lifted  the  sword  of  Wallace,  a  two-handed 
weapon,  five  feet  in  length.  We  also  examined  a  Locha- 
ber  battle-axe,  from  Bannockburn,  and  several  ancient 
claymores.  I  had  a  little  adventure  at  Dumbarton,  which 
came  near  bringing  my  travels  to  a  sudden  termination. 
Noticing  a  bunch  of  pink  mallows  growing  in  a  crevice  of 
the  rock,  seventy  or  eighty  feet  from  the  ground,  I  climbed 
up  the  projecting  points  to  get  them.  The  rock  at  last 
became  perpendicular,  and  I  only  found  a  little  notch  where 
[  could  rest  the  end  of  one  foot.  The  mallows  were  still 
just  beyond  my  reach,  whereupon  I  caught  hold  of  a  bunch 
of  tough  grass  with  one  hand,  and  drew  myself  slowly  up 
until  I  plucked  the  flowers  with  the  other.  On  lowering 
myself  back  again,  I  could  not  find  the  notch,  and  hung  thus 
by  one  hand  to  the  frail  bunch  of  grass,  which  threatened 
to  give  way  beneath  my  weight.  It  could  not  have  been 
many  seconds  before  I  recovered  the  slender  foothold,  but 


“  on  leven’s  banks.” 


45 


when  I  reached  the  ground  I  was  bathed  from  head  to  foot 
in  a  cold  perspiration,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  concealing 
from  my  comrades  the  faintness  I  felt. 

We  lingered  long  upon  the  summit  before  we  forsook  the 
stern  fortress  for  the  sweet  vale  spread  out  before  us.  It 
was  indeed  a  glorious  walk,  from  Dumbarton  to  Loch 
Lomond,  through  this  enchanting  valley.  The  air  was  mild 
and  clear  ;  a  few  light  clouds  occasionally  crossing  the  sky, 
chequered  the  hills  with  sun  and  shade.  I  have  as  yet  seen 
nothing  that  in  pastoral  beauty  can  compare  with  its  glassy 
winding  stream,  its  mossy  old  woods,  and  guarding  hills — 
and  the  ivy- grown,  castellated  towers  embosomed  in  its 
forests,  or  standing  on  the  banks  of  the  Leven — the  purest 
of  rivers.  At  a  little  village  called  Renton,  is  a  monument 
to  Smollett,  but  the  inhabitants  seem  to  neglect  his  memory, 
as  one  of  the  tablets  on  the  pedestal  is  broken  and  half 
fallen  away.  Further  up  the  vale  a  farmer  showed  us  an 
old  mansion  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  trees  on  the  bank  of 
the  Leven,  which  he  said  belonged  to  Smollett — or  Roderick 

Random,  as  he  called  him.  Two  or  three  old  pear  trees, 

* 

under  which  he  was  accustomed  to  play  in  his  childhood, 
were  still  standing  where  the  garden  had  formerly  been. 

At  the  head  of  Leven  Yale,  we  set  off  in  the  steamer 
“  Water  Witch**  over  the  crystal  waters  of  Loch  Lomond, 
passing  Inch  Murrin,  the  deer-park  of  the  Duke  of  Mon¬ 
trose,  and  Inch  Caillach, 

- “  where  gray  pines  wave 

Their  shadows  o’er  Clan  Alpine’s  grave.” 

Under  the  clear  sky  and  golden  light  of  the  declining  sun 


46 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


we  entered  the  Highlands,  and  heard  on  every  side  names 
we  had  learned  long  ago  in  the  lays  of  Scott.  Here  were 
Glen  Fruin  and  Bannochar,  Boss  Dhu  and  the  pass  of  Beal- 
ma-na.  Further  still,  we  passed  Bob  Boy's  rock,  where  the 
lake  is  locked  in  by  lofty  mountains.  The  conedike  peak 
of  Ben  Lomond  rises  far  above  on  the  right,  Ben  Voirlich 
stands  in  front,  and  the  jagged  crest  of  Ben  Arthur  looks 
over  the  shoulders  of  the  western  hills.  A  Scotchman  on 
board  pointed  out  to  us  the  remarkable  places,  and  related 
many  interesting  legends.  Above  Inversnaid,  where  there 
is  a  beautiful  waterfall,  leaping  over  the  rock  and  glancing 
out  from  the  overhanging  birches,  we  passed  McFarland’s 
Island,  concerning  the  origin  of  which  name  he  gave  a 
history.  A  nephew  of  one  of  the  old  Earls  of  Lennox,  the 
ruins  of  whose  castle  we  saw  on  Inch  Murrin,  having  mur¬ 
dered  his  uncle’s  cook  in  a  quarrel,  was  obliged  to  flee  for 
his  life.  Beturning  after  many  years,  he  built  a  castle  upon 
this  island,  which  was  always  afterwards  named,  on  account 
of  his  exile,  Fcir-land .  On  a  precipitous  point  above  Inver¬ 
snaid,  are  two  caves  in  the  rock  ;  one  near  the  water  is  called 
Bob  Boy’s,  though  the  guides  generally  call  it  Bruce's  also, 
to  avoid  trouble,  as  the  real  Bruce’s  Cave  is  high  up  the  hill. 
It  is  so  called,  because  Bruce  lnd  there  one  night,  from  the 

pursuit  of  his  enemies.  It  is  related  that  a  mountain  goat, 

% 

who  used  this  probably  for  a  sleeping  place,  entered,  trod  on 
his  mantle,  and  aroused  him.  Thinking  his  enemies  were 
upon  him,  he  sprang  up,  and  saw  the  silly  animal  before  him. 
In  token  of  gratitude  for  this  agreeable  surprise,  when  he 
became  king,  a  law  was  passed,  declaring  goats  free  through¬ 
out  all  Scotland — unpunishable  for  whatever  trespass  they 


VOYAGE  UP  LOCH  LOMOKD. 


47 


might  commit,  and  the  legend  further  says,  that  not  having 
been  repealed,  it  remains  on  the  statute  hooks  at  the  present 

day. 

On  the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  is  a  large  rock,  called 
“  Bull’s  Rock,”  having  a  door  in  the  side,  with  a  stairway 
cut  through  the  interior  to  a  pulpit  on  the  top,  from  which 
the  pastoac  at  Arroquhar  preaches  a  monthly  discourse.  The 
Gaelic  legend  of  the  rock  is,  that  it  once  stood  near  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  above,  and  was  very  nearly  balanced 

«  t 

on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Two  wild  bulls,  fighting  vio¬ 
lently,  dashed  with  great  force  against  the  rock,  which, 
being  thrown  from  its  balance,  was  tumbled  down  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  until  it  reached  its  present  position.  The 
Scot  was  speaking  with  great  bitterness  of  the  betrayal  of 
Wallace,  when  I  asked  him  if  it  was  still  considered  an 
insult  to  turn  a  loaf  of  bread  bottom  upwards  in  the  pre¬ 
sence  of  a  Monteith.  “  Indeed  it  is,  sir,”  said  he,  “I  have 
often  done  it  myself.” 

Until  last  May,  travellers  were  taken  no  higher  up  the 
lake  than  Rob  Roy’s  Cave,  but  another  boat  having  com¬ 
menced  running,  they  can  now  go  beyond  Loch  Lomond, 
two  miles  up  Glen  Falloch*  to  the  Inn  of  Inverarnan,  thereby 
visiting  some  of  the  finest  scenery  in  that  part  of  the  High¬ 
lands.  It  was  ludicrous,  however,  to  see  the  steamboat  on 
a  river  scarcely  wider  than  herself,  in  a  little  valley,  hemmed 
in  completely  with  lofty  mountains.  She  went  on,  however, 
pushing  aside  the  thickets  which  lined  both  banks,  and  I 
began  to  think  she  was  going  to  take  the  shore  for  it,  when 
we  came  to  a  place  widened  out  for  her  to  be  turned  around 


48 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


in ;  here  we  jumped  ashore  in  a  green  meadow,  on  which 
the  cool  mist  was  beginning  to  descend. 

When  wx  arose  in  the  morning,  at  four  o’clock,  to  return 
with  the  boat,  the  sun  was  already  shining  upon  the  west¬ 
ward  hills,  scarcely  a  cloud  was  in  the  sky,  and  the  air  was 
pure  and  cool.  To  our  great  delight  Ben  Lomond  was 
unslirouded,  and  we  were  told  that  a  more  favorable  day  for 
the  ascent  had  not  occurred  for  two  months.  We  left  the 
boat  at  Rowardennan,  an  inn  at  the  southern  base  of  Ben 
Lomond.  After  breakfasting  on  Loch  Lomond  trout,  I  stole 
out  to  the  shore  while  my  companions  were  preparing  for 
the  ascent,  and  made  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  lake. 

We  purposed  descending  on  the  northern  side  and  cross¬ 
ing  the  Highlands  to  Loch  Katrine.  Although  it  was  repre¬ 
sented  as  difficult  and  dangerous  by  the  guide  who  wished  to 
accompany  us,  we  determined  to  run  the  risk  of  being 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  on  the  summit,  and  so  set  out  alone, 
the  path  appearing  plain  before  us.  We  had  no  difficulty 
in  following  it  up  the  lesser  heights,  around  the  base.  It 
wound  on,  over  rock  and  bog,  among  the  heather  and  broom 
with  which  the  mountain  is  covered,  sometimes  running  up 
a  steep  acclivity,  and  then  winding  zigzag  around  a  rocky 
ascent.  The  rains  two  days  before,  had  made  the  bogs 
damp  and  muddy,  but  with  this  exception,  we  had  little 
trouble  for  some  time.  Ben  Lomond  is  a  doubly  formed 
mountain.  For  about  three-fourths  of  the  way  there  is  a 
continued  ascent,  when  it  is  suddenly  terminated  by  a  large 
barren  plain,  from  one  end  of  which  the  summit  shoots  up 
abruptly,  forming  at  the  northern  side  a  precipice  five  hun* 


CLIMBING  BEN  LOMOND. 


49 


dred  feet  high.  As  we  approached  the  summit  of  the  first 
part  of  the  mountain,  the  way  became  very  steep  and  toil¬ 
some  ;  but  the  prospect,  which  had  before  been  only  on  the 
south  side,  began  to  open  on  the  east,  and  we  saw  suddenly 
spread  out  below  us,  the  vale  of  Menteith,  with  “  far  Loch 
Ard  and  Aberfoil  ”  in  the  centre,  and  the  huge  front  of 
Benvenue  filling  up  the  picture.  Taking  courage  from  this 
sight,  we  hurried  on.  The  heather  had  become  stunted 
and  dwarfish,  and  the  ground  was  covered  with  short  brown 
grass.  The  mountain  sheep,  which  we  saw  looking  at  us 
from  the  rock  above,  had  worn  so  many  paths  along  the 
side,  that  We  could  not  tell  which  to  take,  but  pushed  on  in 
the  direction  of  the  summit,  till  thinking  it  must  be  near  at 
hand,  we  found  a  mile  and  a  half  of  plain  before  us,  with 
the  top  of  Ben  Lomond  at  the  farther  end.  The  plain  was 
full  of  wet  moss,  crossed  in  all  directions  by  deep  ravines  or 
gullies  worn  in  it  by  the  mountain  rains,  and  the  windswept 
across  with  a  tempest-like  force. 

I  met  near  the  base,  a  young  gentleman  from  Edinburgh, 
who  had  left  Rowardennan  before  us,  and  we  commenced 
ascending  together.  It  was  hard  work,  but  neither  liked  to 
stop,  so  we  climbed  up  to  the  first  resting  place,  and  found 
the  path  leading  along  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  TV  e  soon 
attained  the  summit,  and  mounting  a  little  mound  of  earth 
and  stones,  I  saw  the  half  of  Scotland  at  a  glance.  The 
clouds  hung  just  above  the  mountain  tops,  which  rose  all 
around  like  the  waves  of  a  mighty  sea.  On  every  side — 
near  and  far  —  stood  their  misty  summits,  but  Ben  Lomond 
was  the  monarch  of  them  all.  Loch  Lomond  lay  unrolled 

under  my  feet  like  a  beautiful  map,  and  just  opposite,  Loch 

3 


50 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Long  thrust  its  head  from  between  the  feet  of  the  crowded 
hills  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  giant.  We  could  see  from 
Ben  Nevis  to  Ayr — from  Edinburgh  to  Staffa.  Stirling  and 
Edinburgh  Castles  would  have  been  visible,  but  that  the 
clouds  hung  low  in  the  valley  of  the  Forth  and  hid  them 
from  our  sight. 

The  view  from  Ben  Lomond  is  nearly  twice  as  extensive 
as  that  from  Catskill,  being  uninterrupted  on  every  side,  but 
it  wants  the  glorious  forest  scenery,  clear,  blue  sky,  and 
active,  rejoicing  character  of  the  latter.  We  stayed  about 
two  hours  on  the  summit,  taking  refuge  behind  the  cairn, 

when  the  wind  blew  strong.  I  found  the  smallest  of  flowers 

* 

under  a  rock,  and  brought  it  away  as  a  memento.  In  the 
middle  of  the  precipice  there  is  a  narrow  ravine  or  rather 
cleft  in  the  rock,  to  the  bottom,  from  whence  the  mountain 
slopes  regularly  but  steeply  down  to  the  valley.  At  the 
bottom  we  stopped  to  awake  the  echoes,  which  were  repeat¬ 
ed  four  times  ;  our  German  companion  sang  the  Hunter’s 
Chorus,  which  resounded  magnificently  through  this  High¬ 
land  hall.  We  drank  from  the  river  Forth  which  starts  from 
a  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  then  commenced  de¬ 
scending.  This  was  also  toilsome  enough.  The  mountain 
was  quite  wet  and  covered  with  loose  stones,  which,  dis¬ 
lodged  by  our  feet,  went  rattling  down  the  side,  oftentimes 
to  the  danger  of  the  foremost  ones  ;  and  when  we  had  run 
or  rather  slid  down  the  three  miles,  to  the  bottom,  our  knees 
trembled  so  as  scarcely  to  support  us. 

Here,  at  a  cottage  on  the  farm  of  Coman,  we  procured 
some  oat  cakes  and  milk  for  dinner,  from  an  old  Scotch  wo¬ 
man,  who  pointed  out  the  direction  of  Loch  Katrine,  six 


SCENERY  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


51 


miles  distant ;  there  was  no  road,  nor  indeed  a  solitary  dwell¬ 
ing  between.  The  hills  were  bare  of  trees,  covered  with 
scraggy  bushes  and  rough  heath,  which  in  some  places  was 
so  thick  that  we  could  scarcely  drag  our  feet  through.  Added 
to  this,  the  ground  was  covered  with  a  kind  of  moss  that 
retained  the  moisture  like  a  sponge,  so  that  our  hoots  ere 
long  became  thoroughly  soaked.  Several  large  streams 
were  rushing  down  the  declivities,  and  many  of  the  wild 
breed  of  black  Highland  cattle  were  grazing  around.  After 
climbing  up  and  down  one  or  two  heights,  occasionally 
startling  the  moorcock  and  ptarmigan  from  their  heathery 
coverts,  we  saw  the  valley  of  Loch  Con  ;  while  in  the  middle 
of  the  plain  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  we  had  ascended, 
was  a  sheet  of  water  which  we  took  to  be  Loch  Achill. 
Two  or  three  wild  fowl  swimming  on  its  surface  were  the 
only  living  things  in  sight.  The  peaks  around  shut  it  out 

f. 

from  all  view  of  the  world  ;  a  single  decayed  tree  leaned 
over  it  from  a  mossy  rock,  and  gave  the  whole  scene  an 
air  of  the  most  desolate  wildness.  I  forget  the  name  of  the 
lake ;  but  we  learned  afterwards  that  the  Highlanders  con¬ 
sider  it  the  abode  of  the  fairies,  or  “men  of  peace,”  and  that  it 
is  still  superstitiously  shunned  by  them  after  nightfall. 

From  the  next  mountain  we  saw  Loch  Achill  and  Loch 
Katrine  below,  but  a  wet  and  weary  descent  had  yet  to  be 
made.  I  was  about  throwing  off  my  knapsack  on  a  rock, 
to  take  a  sketch  of  Loch  Katrine,  which  appeared  very 
beautiful  from  this  point,  when  we  discerned  a  cavalcade  of 
ponies  winding  along  the  path  from  Inversnaid  to  the  head 
of  the  lake,  and  hastened  down  to  take  the  boat  when 
they  should  arrive.  Our  haste  turned  out  to  be  unnecessary, 

LIBRARY 

*  UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 

URBANA 


52 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


however,  for  they  had  to  wait  for  their  luggage,  which  was 
long  in  coming.  Two  boatmen  then  offered  to  take  us  for 
two  shillings  and  sixpence  each,  with  the  privilege  of  stop¬ 
ping  at  Ellen’s  Isle  ;  the  regular  fare  being  two  shillings. 
We  got  in,  when,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  in  Gaelic, 
one  of  them  called  to  the  travellers,  of  whom  there  were 
a  number,  to  come  and  take  passage  at  two  shillings — then 
at  one  and  sixpence,  and  finally  concluded  by  requesting 
them  all  to  step  on  board  the  shilling  boat  !  At  length, 
having  secured  nine  at  this  reduced  price,  we  pushed  off ; 
one  of  the  passengers  took  the  helm,  and  the  boat  glided 
merrily  over  the  clear  water. 

It  appears  there  is  some  opposition  among  the  boatmen 
this  summer,  which  is  all  the  better  for  travellers.  They  are 
a  bold  race,  and  still  preserve  many  of  the  characteristics 
of  the  clan  from  which  they  sprung.  One  of  ours,  who  had 
a  chieftain-like  look,  was  a  MacGregor,  related  to  Rob  Roy. 
The  fourth  descendant  in  a  direct  line,  now  inhabits  the 
Rob  Roy  mansion,  at  Glengyle,  a  valley  at  the  head  of  the 
lake.  A  small  steamboat  was  put  upon  Loch  Katrine  a 
short  time  ago,  but  the  boatmen,  jealous  of  this  new  invasion 
of  their  privilege,  one  night  towed  her  out  to  the  middle  of 
the  lake  and  there  sunk  her. 

Near  the  point  of  Brianchoil  is  a  very  small  island  with  a 
few  trees  upon  it,  of  which  the  boatman  related  a  story  that 
was  new  to  me.  He  said  an  eccentric  individual,  many 
years  ago,  built  his  house  upon  it — but  it  was  soon  beaten 
down  by  the  winds  and  waves.  Having  built  it  up  with 
like  fortune  several  times,  he  at  last  desisted,  saying, 
u  bought  wisdom  was  the  best since  when  it  has  been  calk 


THE  BOATMEN  OF  LOCH  KATRINE. 


53 


ed  the  Island  of  Wisdom.  On  the  shore  below,  the  boat¬ 
man  showed  us  his  cottage.  The  whole  family  were  out  at 
the  door  to  witness  our  progress ;  he  hoisted  a  flag,  and  when 
we  came  opposite,  they  exchanged  shouts  in  Gaelic.  As 
our  men  resumed  their  oars  again,  we  assisted  in  giving  three 
cheers,  which  made  all  the  echoes  of  Benvenue  ring. 
Some  one  observed  his  dog,  looking  after  us  from  a  project¬ 
ing  rock,  when  he  called  out  to  him,  “  go  home,  you  brute  !” 
We  asked  him  why  he  did  not  speak  Gaelic  also  to  his  dog. 
“  Very  few  dogs,  indeed,”  said  he,  “  understand  Gaelic,  but 
they  all  understand  English.  And  we  therefore  all  use 
English  when  speaking  to  our  dogs ;  indeed,  I  know  some 
persons,  who  know  nothing  of  English,  that  speak  it  to 
their  dogs  !” 

They  then  sang,  in  a  rude  manner,  a  Gaelic  song.  The 
only  word  I  could  distinguish  was  Inch  Caillach,  the  burying 
place  of  Clan  Alpine.  They  told  us  it  was  the  answer  of  a 
Highland  girl  to  a  foreign  lord,  who  wished  to  make  her  his 
bride.  Perhaps,  like  the  American  Indian,  she  would  not 
leave  the  graves  of  her  fathers.  As  we  drew  near  the  east¬ 
ern  end  of  the  lake,  the  scenery  became  far  more  beautiful. 
The  Trosachs  opened  before  us,  Ben  Ledi  looked  down  over 
the  bare  forehead  of  Ben  An,  and,  as  we  turned  a  rocky 
point,  Ellen’s  Isle  rose  up  in  front.  It  is  a  beautiful  little 
turquoise  in  the  silver  setting  of  Loch  Katrine.  The  north¬ 
ern  side  alone  is  accessible,  all  the  others  being  rocky  and 
perpendicular,  and  thickly  grown  with  trees.  We  rounded 
the  island  to  the  little  bay,  bordered  by  the  silver  strand, 
above  which  is  the  rock  from  which  Fitz- James  wound  his 
horn,  and  shot  under  an  ancient  oak  which  flung  its  long 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


54 

gray  arms  over  tlie  water.  Here  we  found  a  flight  of  rocky 
steps,  leading  to  the  top,  where  stood  the  bower  erected  by 
Lady  Willoughby  D’Eresby,  to  correspond  with  Scott’s 
description.  Two  or  three  blackened  beams  are  all  that 
remain  of  it,  having  been  burned  down  some  years  ago  by 
the  carelessness  of  a  traveller. 

The  mountains  stand  all  around,  like  giants,  to  “  sentinel 
this  enchanted  land.”  On  leaving  the  island,  we  saw  the 
Goblin’s  Cave,  in  the  side  of  Benvenue,  called  by  the  Gaels, 
“  Coir-nan-Uriskin.”  Near  it  is  Beal-nam-bo,  the  pass  of 
cattle,  overhung  with  gray  weeping  birch  trees. 

Here  the  boatmen  stopped  to  let  us  hear  the  fine  echo, 
and  the  names  of  “  Rob  Roy,”  and  “  Roderick  Dhu,”  were 
sent  back  to  us  nearly  as  loud  as  they  were  given.  The  de¬ 
scription  of  Scott  is  wonderfully  exact,  though  the  forest  that 
feathered  over  the  sides  of  Benvenue  has  since  been  cut 
down  and  sold  by  the  Duke  of  Montrose.  When  we  reached 
the  end  of  the  lake  it  commenced  raining,  and  we  hastened 
on  in  the  twilight  through  the  pass  of  Beal-an-Duine,  scarce¬ 
ly  taking  time  to  glance  at  the  scenery,  till  Loch  Achray 
appeared  through  the  trees,  and  on  its  banks  the  ivy-grown 
front  of  the  inn  of  Archeancrochan,  with  its  unpronounce¬ 
able  name. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  BURNS  FESTIVAL. 

Morning  on  Loch  Katrine — Walk  to  Stirling — Out-door  Life — The  Burns  Festival- 
Preparations — Journey  to  Ayr— The  “  Twa  Brigs  ” — The  Streets  of  Ayr — Scotch 
Beggars— An  Incident — The  Burns  Cottage — Alloway  Kirk — English  Exclusiveness 
—The  Sister  and  Sons  of  Burns — Lord  Eglintoun— Professor  Wilson — The  Proces¬ 
sion — Performance  of  Tam  O’Shanter — The  Burns  Monument — Speech  of  Eobert 
Burns — An  Anecdote  of  the  Poet — Crowd  at  the  Station — Eeturn  to  Glasgow. 

We  passed  a  glorious  summer  morning  on  the  banks  of  Loch 
Katrine.  The  air  was  pure,  fresh  and  balmy,  and  the  warm 
sunshine  glowed  upon  forest  and  lake,  upon  dark  crag  and 
purple  mountain-top.  The  lake  was  a  scene  in  fairy -land. 
Returning  over  the  rugged  battle-plain  in  the  jaws  of  the 
Trosachs,  we  passed  the  wild,  lonely  valley  of  Glenfinlas 
and  Lanric  Mead,  at  the  head  of  Loch  Vennachar,  rounding 
the  foot  of  Ben  Ledito  Coilantogle  Ford.  We  saw  the  deso¬ 
late  hills  of  Uam-var,  over  which  the  stag  fled  from  his  lair 
in  Glenartney,  and  keeping  on  through  Callander,  stopped 
for  the  night  at  a  little  inn  on  the  banks  of  the  Teith.  The 
next  day  we  walked  through  Doune,  over  the  lowlands  to 
Stirling,  where  we  arrived  at  noon.  Crossing  Allan  Water 


56 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  tlie  Forth,  we  climbed  Stirling  Castle  and  looked  on  the 
purple  peaks  of  the  Ochill  Mountains,  the  far  Grampians, 
and  the  battle-fields  of  Bannockburn  and  Sheriff  Muir.  We 
were  favored  with  pleasant  weather  during  the  whole  of 
this  journey,  and  found  that  our  expenses  did  not  exceed 
the  moderate  estimate  we  had  made.  In  the  neat  little 
country  inns,  we  readily  procured  lodgings  for  a  shilling, 
while  bread,  butter,  cheese  and  ham,  purchased  at  the 
baker’s  and  grocer’s,  furnished  us  with  the  material  for  our 
roadside  meals.  I  shall  long  remember  the  breakfast  we 
made,  sitting  in  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  Doune  Castle,  on 
the  banks  of  the  swift  Teitli,  whose  clear  water  filled  our 
cups.  At  Stirling,  we  took  the  coach  to  Falkirk  the  same 
afternoon,  and  thence  proceeded  by  railroad  to  Glasgow,  in 
order  that  we  might  attend  the  Burns  Festival  at  Ayr,  on 
the  following  day,  the  6th  of  August.  Our  German  com¬ 
panion,  feeling  little  interest  in  the  memory  of  the  poet- 
ploughman,  parted  from  us  and  took  the  steamer  to  Edin¬ 
burgh,  with  the  hope  of  meeting  us  somewhere  on  the  road 
to  London. 

The  6th  of  August,  1844,  was  a  great  day  for  Scotland — 
the  assembling  of  all  classes  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of 
her  peasant-bard.  And  right  fitting  was  it,  too,  that  such  a 
meeting  should  be  held  on  the  banks  of  the  Doon,  the 
stream  of  which  he  has  sung  so  sweetly,  within  sight  of  the 
cot  where  he  was  born,  the  beautiful  monument  erected  by 
his  countrymen,  and  more  than  all,  beside  “  Alloway’s  witch- 
haunted  wall !”  One  would  think  old  Albyn  would  rise  up 
at  the  call,  and  that  from  the  wild  clansmen  of  the  northern 
hills  to  the  shepherds  of  the  Cheviots,  half  her  honest  yeo* 


THE  BURNS  FESTIVAL. 


57 


manry  would  be  there,  to  render  gratitude  to  the  memory 
of  the  bard  who  was  one  of  them,  and  who  gave  their  wants 
and  their  woes  immortal  utterance. 

For  months  before  had  the  proposition  been  made  to  hold 
a  meeting  on  the  Doon,  similar  to  the  Shakspeare  Festival 
on  the  Avon,  and  the  10th  of  July  was  first  appointed  for 
the  day,  but  owing  to  the  necessity  of  further  time  for  pre¬ 
paration.  it  was  postponed  until  the  6th  of  August.  The  Earl 
of  Eglintoun  was  chosen  Chairman,  and  Professor  Wilson 
Vice-Chairman  ;  in  addition  to  this,  all  the  most  eminent 
British  authors  were  invited  to  attend.  A  pavilion,  capable 
of  containing  two  thousand  persons,  had  been  erected  near 

i 

the  monument,  in  a  large  field,  which  was  thrown  open  to 
the  public. 

When  we  arose  at  Glasgow  it  was  raining,  and  I  feared 
that  the  weather  might  dampen  somewhat  the  pleasures  of 
the  day,  as  in  the  case  of  the  celebrated  tournament  at 
Eglintoun  Castle.  We  reached  the  station  in  time  for  the 
first  train,  and  sped  in  the  face  of  the  wind  over  the  plains 
of  Ayrshire,  which,  under  such  a  gloomy  sky,  looked  most 
desolate.  We  ran  some  distance  along  the  coast,  having  a 
view  of  the  Hills  of  Arran,  and  reached  Ayr  about  nine 
o’clock.  We  came  first  to  the  New  Bridge,  which  had  a 
triumphal  arch  in  the  middle,  and  the  lines,  from  the  “  Twa 
Brigs  of  Ayr 

“  Will  your  poor  narrow  foot-path  of  a  street, 

Where  twa  wheel-barrows  tremble  when  they  meet, 

Your  ruin’d,  formless  bulk  o’  stane-  and  lime, 

Compare  wi’  bonnie  brigs  o’  modern  time?” 

3*. 


5  3 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


While  on  the  arch  of  the  “  old  brig  ”  was  the  reply 
“  I’ll  be  a  brig  when  ye’re  a  shapeless  stane.” 

As  we  advanced  into  the  town,  the  decorations  became 
more  frequent.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  people  ear¬ 
ning  banners  and  wreaths,  many  of  the  houses  were  adorned 
with  green  boughs,  and  the  vessels  in  the  harbor  hung  out 
all  their  flags.  We  saw  the  Wallace  Tower,  a  high  Gothic 
building,  having  in  front  a  statue  of  Wallace  leaning  on  his 
sword,  by  Thom,  a  native  of  Ayr ;  and  on  our  way  to  the 
green,  where  the  procession  was  to  assemble,  passed  under 
the  triumphal  arch  thrown  across  the  street  opposite  the 
inn  where  Tam  O’Shanter  caroused  so  long  with  S outer 
Johnny.  Leaving  the  companies  to  form  on  the  long  mea¬ 
dow  bordering  the  shore,  we  set  out  for  the  Doon,  three 
miles  distant.  Beggars  were  seated  at  regular  distances 
along  the  road,  uttering  the  most  dolorous  winnings.  Both 
bridges  were  decorated  in  the  same  manner,  with  miserable 
looking  objects,  keeping  up,  during  the  whole  day,  a  con¬ 
tinued  lamentation.  Persons  are  prohibited  from  begging  in 
England  and  Scotland,  but  I  suppose,  this  being  an  extra¬ 
ordinary  day,  license  was  given  them  as  a  favor,  to  beg  free. 
I  noticed  that  the  women,  wit>  their  usual  kindness  of  heart, 
bestowed  nearly  all  the  films  which  these  unfortunate  objects 
received.  The  night  before,  as  I  was  walking  through  the 
streets  of  Glasgow,  a  young  man  of  the  poorer  class,  very 
scantily  dressed,  stepped  up  to  me  and  begged  me  to  listen 
to  him  for  a  moment.  He  spoke  hurriedly  and  agitatedly, 
begging  me,  in  God’s  name,  to  give  him  something,  however 
little.  I  gave  him  what  few  pence  I  had  with  me,  when  he 


THE  BURNS  COTTAGE - ALLOW  AY  EIRE. 


59 


grasped  my  hand  with  a  quick  motion,  saying,  “  Sir,  you 
little  think  how  much  you  have  done  for  me.”  I  was  about 
to  inquire  more  particularly  into  his  situation,  hut  he  had 
disappeared  among  the  crowd. 

We  passed  the  “  cairn  where  the  hunters  found  the  mur¬ 
dered  bairn,”  along  a  pleasant  road  to  the  Burns  cottage, 
where  it  was  spanned  by  a  magnificent  triumphal  arch  of 
evergreens  and  flowers.  To  the  disgrace  of  Scotland,  this 
neat  little  thatched  cot,  where  Burns  passed  the  first  seven 
years  of  his  life,  is  now  occupied  by  somebody,  who  has 
stuck  up  a  sign  over  the  door,  “  licensed  to  retail  sjnrits ,  to  be 
drunk  on  the  premises  and  accordingly  the  rooms  were 
crowded  full  of  people,  all  drinking.  There  was  an  original 
portrait  of  Burns  in  one  room,  and  in  the  old-fashioned 
kitchen  we  saw  the  recess  where  he  was  born.  The  hostess 
looked  towards  us  as  if  to  inquire  what  we  would  drink,  and 
I  hastened  away — there  was  profanity  in  the  thought.  But 
by  this  time,  the  bell  of  Old  Alloway,  which  still  hangs  in 
its  accustomed  place,  though  the  walls  only  are  left,  began 
tolling,  and  we  obeyed  the  call.  The  attachment  of  the 
people  for  this  bell  is  so  great,  that  a  short  time  ago,  when 
it  was  ordered  to  be  removed,  the  inhabitants  rose  en  masse, 
and  prevented  it.  The  ruin,  which  is  close  by  the  road, 
stands  in  the  middle  of  the  church-yard,  and  the  first  thing 
I  saw,  on  going  in  the  gate,  was  the  tomb  of  the  father  of 
Burns.  I  looked  in  the  old  window,  but  the  interior  was 
filled  with  rank  weeds,  and  overshadowed  by  a  young  tree, 
which  had  grown  nearly  to  the  eaves. 

The  crowd  was  now  fast  gathering  in  the  large  field,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  pavilion  was  situated.  We  went 


60 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


down  by  the  beautiful  monument  to  Burns,  to  the  “  Auld 
Brig  o'  Doon,”  which  was  spanned  by  an  arch’of  evergreens, 
containing  a  representation  of  Tam  O’Shanter  and  his  grey 
mare,  pursued  by  the  witches.  It  had  been  arranged  that 
the  procession  was  to  pass  over  the  old  and  new  bridges, 
and  from  thence  by  a  temporary  bridge  over  the  hedge  into 
the  field.  At  this  latter  place  a  stand  was  erected  for  the 
sons  of  Burns,  the  officers  of  the  day,  and  distinguished 
guests.  Here  was  a  beautiful  specimen  of  English  exclusive¬ 
ness.  The  space  adjoining  the  pavilion  was  fenced  around, 
and  admittance  denied  at  first  to  any,  except  those  who  had 
tickets  for  the  dinner,  which,  the  price  being  fifteen  shillings, 
entirely  prevented  the  humble  laborers,  who,  more  than  all, 
should  participate  on  the  occasion,  from  witnessing  the 
review  of  the  procession  by  the  sons  of  Burns,  and  hearing 
the  eloquent  speeches  of  Professor  Wilson  and  Lord  Eglin- 
toun.  Thus,  of  the  many  thousands  who  were  in  the  field, 
but  a  few  hundred  who  were  crowded  between  the  bridge 
and  the  railing  around  the  pavilion,  enjoyed  the  interesting 
spectacle.  By  good  fortune,  I  obtained  a  station  where  I 
had  an  excellent  view  of  the  scene.  The  sons  of  Burns 
were  in  the  middle  of  the  platform,  with  Eglintoun  on  the 
right,  and  Wilson  on  the  left.  Mrs.  Begg,  sister  of  the 
Poet,  with  her  daughters,  stood  by  the  Countess  of  Eglin¬ 
toun.  She  was  a  plain,  benevolent  looking  woman,  dressed 
in  black,  and  appearing  still  active  and  vigorous,  though  she 
is  upwards  of  eighty  years  old.  She  bears  some  likeness, 
especially  in  the  large,  dark,  lustrous  eye,  to  the  Poet. 
Robert  Burns,  the  eldest  son,  appeared  to  me  to  have  a 
strong  resemblance  to  his  father,  and  it  is  said  he  is  the  only 


THE  PROCESSION. 


61 


one  who  remembers  his  face.  He  has.  for  a  long  time  had 
an  office  under  Government,  in  London.  The  others  have 
hut  lately  returned  from  a  residence  of  twenty  years  in 
India.  Among  other  notable  characters  on  the  stand  were 
Alison,  the  historian,  who  is  now  Sheriff  of  Lanark,  and 
Mrs.  S.  C-  Hall.  Professor  Wilson  appeared  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  scene  better  than  any  of  them.  He  shout¬ 
ed  and  waved  his  hat,  and,  with  his  fine,  broad  forehead,  his 
long  brown  locks  already  mixed  with  gray,  streaming  on 
his  shoulders,  and  that  eagle  eye  glancing  over  the  vast 
assemblage,  seemed  a  real  Christopher  North,  yet  full  of  the 
fire  and  vigor  of  youth — “  a  gray -haired,  happy  boy  !” 

About  half  of  the  procession  consisted  of  lodges  of  masons, 
all  of  whom  turned  out  on  the  occasion,  as  Burns  was  one 
of  the  fraternity.  I  was  most  interested  in  several  compa¬ 
nies  of  shepherds,  from  the  hills,  with  their  crooks  and 
plaids  ;  a  body  of  archers  in  Lincoln  green,  with  a  handsome 
chief  at  their  head,  and  some  Highlanders  in  their  most 
picturesque  of  costumes  As  one  of  the  companies,  which 
carried  a  mammoth  thistle  in  a  box,  came  near  the  platform, 
Wilson  snatched  a  branch,  regardless  of  the  pricks,  and 
placed  it  on  his  coat.  After  this  pageant,  which  could  not 
have  been  much  less  than  three  miles  long,  had  passed,  a 
band  was  stationed  on  the  platform  in  the  centre  of  the  field, 
around  which  the  procession  formed  in  a  circle,  and  the 
whole  company  sang,  “  Ye  Banks  and  Braes  o’  Bonnie  Doon.” 
Just  at  this  time,  a  person  dressed  to  represent  Tam  O’Shan- 
ter,  mounted  on  a  gray  mare,  issued  from  a  field  near  the 
Burns  Monument  and  rode  along  towards  Alloway  Kirk, 
from  which,  when  he  approached  it,  a  whole  legion  of 


62  /  VIEWS  A -FOOT. 

witches  sallied  out  and  commenced  a  hot  pursuit.  They 
turned  back,  however,  at  the  keystone  of  the  bridge,  the 
witch  with  the  “  cutty  sark’'  holding  up  in  triumph  the 
abstracted  tail  of  Maggie  Soon  after  this  the  company 
entered  the  pavilion,  and  the  thousands  outside  were  enter, 
tained.  as  an  especial  favor,  by  the  band  of  the  87tli  Regi¬ 
ment,  while  from  the  many  liquor  booths  around  the  field 
they  could  enjoy  themselves  in  a  grosser  way. 

We  went  up  to  the  Monument,  which  was  of  more  par¬ 
ticular  interest  to  us,  from  the  relics  within,  but  admission 
was  denied  to  all.  Many  persons  were  collected  around  the 
gate,  some  of  whom,  having  come  from  a  great  distance, 
were  anxious  to  see  it ;  but  the  keeper  only  said,  such  were 
the  orders  and  he  could  not  disobey  them.  Among  the 
crowd,  a  grandson  of  the  original  Tam  O’Shanter  was  shown 
to  us.  He  was  a  raw-looking  boy  of  nineteen  or  twenty, 
wearing  a  shepherd's  cap  and  jacket,  and  muttered  his  disap¬ 
probation  very  decidedly,  at  not  being  able  to  visit  the 
Monument. 

There  were  one  or  two  showers  during  the  day,  and  the 
sky,  all  the  time,  was  dark  and  lowering,  which  was  unfavor¬ 
able  for  the  celebration  ;  but  all  were  glad  enough  that  the 
rain  kept  aloof  till  the  ceremonies  were  nearly  over.  The 
speeches  delivered  at  the  dinner,  which  appeared  in  the 
papers  next  morning,  are  undoubtedly  very  eloquent.  I 
noticed  in  the  remarks  of  Robert  Burns,  in  reply  to  Profes¬ 
sor  Wilson,  an  acknowledgment  which  the  other  speakers 
forgot.  He  said,  “  The  Sons  of  Burns  have  grateful  hearts, 
and  to  the  last  hour  of  their  existence,  they  will  remember 
the  honor  that  has  been  paid  them  this  day,  by  the  noble, 


ANECDOTE  OF  BURNS. 


63 


the  lovely  and  the  talented,  of  tlieir  native  land — by  men  of 
genius  and  kindred  spirit  from  our  sister  land — and  lastly, 
they  owe  their  thanks  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  far  distant 
West,  the  country  of  a  great,  free,  and  kindred  people/ 
(loud  cheers.)’'  In  connexion  with  this  subject,  I  saw  an 
anecdote  of  the  poet  which  is  not  generally  known.  During 
his  connexion  with  the  Excise,  he  was  one  day  at  a  party, 
where  the  health  of  Pitt,  then  minister,  was  proposed,  as 
“  his  master  and  theirs.55  He  immediately  turned  down  his 
glass  and  said,  “  I  will  give  you  the  health  of  a  far  greater 
and  better  man — George  Washington!” 

We  left  the  field  early  and  went  back  through  the  muddy 
streets  of  Ayr.  The  street  before  the  railway  office  was 
crowded,  and  there  was  so  dense  a  mass  of  people  on  the 
steps,  that  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  get  near.  Seeing 
no  other  chance,  I  managed  to  take  my  stand  on  the  lowest 
steps  where  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  behind,  and  the 
working  of  the  throng  on  the  steps,  raised  me  off  my  feet, 
and  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  carried  me,  compressed 
into  the  smallest  possible  space,  up  the  steps  to  the  door, 
where  the  crowd  burst  in  by  fits,  like  water  rushing  out  of 
a  bottle.  We  esteemed  ourselves  fortunate  in  getting  room 
to  stand  in  an  open  car,  where,  after  a  two  hours’  ride 
through  the  wind  and  pelting  rain,  we  arrived  at  Glasgow. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


OVER  THE  BORDER - FROM  EDINBURGH  TO  LONDON. 

Ride  to  Edinburgh— The  Monumental  City— Lost  and  Found— Seeing  Edinburgh— 
The  March  Resumed — The  Muirfoot  Hills — American  Books  at  Melrose — Wading 
the  Tweed— Abbotsford — The  Armory  and  Library — Scott’s  Study— A  “Prospect” 
Recovered— Ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey — Teviot  Dale — Jedburgh — Over  the  Border — 
Scenery  of  the  Cheviots — Appreciative  Tourists — Shepherds  on  Chevy  Chase — The 
Moorland — A  Night  at  Whelpington  Knowes— Walk  to  Newcastle — Cheap  Lodgings 
— The  Roman  Wall — Miners  in  Distress— Passage  for  London — A  Meeting— The 
Voyage — The  Thames  at  Night — London  at  Dawn. 

We  left  Glasgow  on  the  morning  after  returning  from  the 
Burns  Festival,  taking  passage  in  the  open  cars  for  Edin¬ 
burgh,  for  six  shillings.  On  leaving  the  depot,  we  plunged 
into  the  heart  of  the  hill  on  which  Glasgow  Cathedral  stands, 
and  were  whisked  through  darkness  and  sulphury  smoke 
to  daylight  again.  The  cars  bore  us  past  a  spur  of  the 
Highlands,  through  a  beautiful  country  where  women  were 
at  work  in  the  fields,  to  Linlithgow,  the  birth-place  of  Queen 
Mary.  The  majestic  ruins  of  its  once-proud  palace  stand 
on  a  green  meadow  behind  the  town.  In  another  hour  we 
were  walking  through  Edinburgh,  admiring  its  palace-like 
edifices,  and  stopping  every  few  minutes  to  gaze  up  at  some 


LOST  AND  FOUND. 


65 


lofty  monument.  Really,  thought  I,  we  call  Baltimore  the 
“  Monumental  City”  for  its  two  marble  columns,  and  here 
is  Edinburgh  with  one  at  every  street-corner  !  These,  too, 
not  in  the  midst  of  glaring  red  buildings,  where  they  seem 
to  have  been  accidentally  dropped,  but  framed  in  by  lofty 
granite  mansions,  whose  long  vistas  make  an  appropriate 
background  to  the  picture. 

While  intently  gazing  upon  one  of  these  monuments,  my 
friends  passed  me  and  were  lost  in  the  crowd.  All  my 
efforts  to  find  them  were  vain,  and  finally  giving  up  the 
search,  I  went  upon  Calton  Hill,  where  I  spent  two  hours  in 
contemplating  the  noble  panorama  it  commands.  A  sense  of 
hunger  at  last  recalled  me  to  myself,  and  I  descended  to  the 
city  to  seek  for  an  inn.  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  seeing 
my  friends,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  go  on  alone  to  London, 
by  the  route  we  had  proposed.  As  I  was  sauntering  along 
in  the  crowd,  a  coarsely-dressed  man  suddenly  accosted  me. 
“  Your  two  friends,”  he  said,  “  have  sent  me  out  to  hunt 
you.  They  are  at  an  inn  not  far  from  here.”  “  Are  you 
sure  1  am  the  right  person  ?”  I  asked.  “  Oh  yes,” 
said  he,  “  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  saw  you.”  I  followed  him. 
and,  truly  enough,  found  my  comrades,  installed  in  a  cheer¬ 
ful  tavern,  and  enjoying  a  bottle  of  ale.  They  had  taken 
it  for  granted  that  the  man  would  find  me,  and  were  not  at 
all  astonished  at  his  success. 

We  again  looked  from  Calton  Hill  on  Salisbury  Crags  and 
over  the  Frith  of  Forth,  and  then  descended  to  dark  old 
Holyrood,  where  the  memory  of  lovely  Mary  lingers  like  a 
stray  sunbeam  in  her  cold  halls,  and  the  fair,  boyish  face  of 
Rizzio  looks  down  from  the  canvas  on  the  armor  of  his 


66 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


murderer.  We  threaded  the  Canongate  and  climbed  to  the 
Castle  ;  and  finally,  after  a  day  and  a  half's  sojourn,  buckled 
on  our  knapsacks  and  marched  out  of  the  Northern  Athens. 
In  a  short  time  the  tali  spire  of  Dalkeith  appeared  above 
the  green  wood,  and  we  saw  to  the  right,  perched  on  the 
steep  banks  of  the  Esk,  the  picturesque  cottage  of  Haw- 
tliornden.  where  Drummond  once  lived  in  poetic  solitude. 
We  made  haste  to  cross  before  nightfall  the  dreary  waste 
of  Muirfoot  Hills,  from  the  highest  summit  of  which  we 
took  a  last  view  of  Edinburgh  Castle  and  the  Salisbury 
Crags,  then  blue  in  the  distance.  Far  to  the  east  were  the 
hills  of  Lammermuir,  and  the  country  of  Mid-Lothian  lay 
before  us.  It  was  all  SroM-land.  The  inn  of  Torsonce, 
beside  the  Gala  Water,  was  our  resting-place  for  the  night. 
As  we  approached  Galashiels  the  next  morning,  where  the 
bed  of  the  silver  Gala  is  nearly  emptied  by  a  number  of 
dingy  manufactories,  the  hills  opened,  disclosing  the  sweet 
vale  of  the  Tweed,  guarded  by  the  triple  peak  of  the  Eil- 
don,  at  whose  base  lay  nestled  the  village  of  Melrose. 

I  stopped  at  a  bookstore  to  purchase  a  view  of  the  Abbey, 
and  to  my  surprise  nearly  half  the  works  were  by  Ameri- 
can  authors.  There  were  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Channing, 
Emerson,  Dana,  Ware  and  many  others.  The  bookseller 
told  me  he  had  sold  more  of  Ware’s  Letters  than  any  other 
book  in  his  shop,  “  and  also,”  to  use  his  own  words,  i4  an 
immense  number  of  the  great  Dr.  Channing.”  I  have  seen 
English  editions  of  Percival,  Willis,  Whittier  and  Mrs. 
Sigourney,  but  Bancroft  and  Prescott  are  classed  among  the 
4  standard  British  historians.” 

Crossing  the  Gala  we  ascended  a  hill  on  the  road  to  Sel- 


WADING  THE  TWEED. 


67 


kirk,  and  behold !  the  Tweed  ran  below,  and  opposite,  in 
the  midst  of  embowering  trees  planted  by  the  hand  of  Scott, 
rose  the  grey  halls  of  Abbotsford.  We  went  down  a  lane 

to  the  banks  of  the  swift  stream,  but  finding  no  ferry,  B - 

and  I,  as  the  water  looked  very  shallow,  thought  we  might 

save  a  long  walk  by  wading  across  F - preferred  hunting 

for  a  boat ;  we  two  set  out  together,  with  our  knapsacks  on 
our  backs,  and  our  boots  in  our  hands.  The  current  was 
ice-cold  and  very  swift,  and  as  the  bed  was  covered  with 
loose  stones,  it  required  the  greatest  care  to  stand  upright. 
Looking  at  the  bottom,  through  the  rapid  water,  made  my 
head  so  giddy,  that  I  was  forced  to  stop  and  shut  my  eyes ; 
my  friend,  who  had  firmer  nerves,  went  plunging  on  to  a 
deeper  and  swifter  part,  where  the  strength  of  the  current 
made  him  stagger  very  unpleasantly.  T  called  to  him  to 
return  ;  but  the  next  thing  I  saw,  he  gave  a  plunge  and 
went  down  to  the  shoulder  in  the  cold  flood.  While  he  was 
struggling  with  a  frightened  expression  of  face  to  recover 

A 

his  footing,  I  leaned  on  my  staff  and  laughed  till  I  was  on 

the  point  of  falling  also.  To  crown  our  mortification,  F - 

had  found  a  ferry  a  few  yards  higher  up  and  was  on  the 
opposite  shore,  watching  us  wade  back  again,  my  friend 
with  dripping  clothes  and  boots  full  of  water.  I  could  not 
forgive  the  pretty  Scotch  damsel  who  rowed  us  across,  the 
mischievous  lurking  smile  which  told  that  she  too  had  wit¬ 
nessed  the  adventure. 

We  found  a  foot-path  on  the  other  side,  which  led  through 
a  young  forest  to  Abbotsford  Rude  pieces  of  sculpture, 
taken  from  Melrose  Abbey,  were  scattered  around  the  gate, 
some  half  buried  in  the  earth  and  overgrown  with  weeds. 


68 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  niches  in  the  walls  were  filled  with  pieces  of  sculpture, 
and  a  marble  greyhound  reposed  in  the  middle  of  the  court 
yard.  We  rang  the  bell  in  an  outer  vestibule,  ornamented 
with  several  pairs  of  antlers,  when  a  lady  appeared,  who, 
from  her  appearance,  I  have  no  doubt  was  Mrs.  Ormand, 
the  “  Duenna  of  Abbotsford,”  so  humorously  described  by 
D’Arlincourt,  in  his  “  Three  Kingdoms.”  She  ushered  us 
into  the  entrance  hall,  which  has  a  magnificent  ceiling  of 
carved  oak,  and  is  lighted  by  lofty  stained  windows.  An 
effigy  of  a  knight  in  armor  stood  at  either  end,  one  holding  a 
huge  two-handed  sword  found  on  Bosworth  Field  ;  the  walls 
were  covered  with  helmets  and  breastplates  of  the  olden 
time. 

Among  the  curiosities  in  the  Armory  are  Napoleon’s 
pistols,  the  blunderbuss  of  Hofer,  Rob  Roy’s  purse  and  gun, 
and  the  offering  box  of  Queen  Mary.  Through  the  folding 
doors  between  the  dining-room,  drawing-room  and  library, 
is  a  fine  vista,  terminated  by  a  niche,  in  which  stands  Chan- 
trey’s  bust  of  Scott.  The  ceilings  are  of  carved  Scottish 
oak  and  the  doors  of  American  cedar.  Adjoining  the  library 
is  the  study,  the  walls  of  which  are  covered  with  books ;  the 
doors  and  windows  are  double,  to  render  it  quiet  and  undis¬ 
turbed.  Scott’s  books  and  inkstand  are  on  the  table  and 
his  writing-chair  stands  before  it,  as  if  he  had  left  them  but 
a  moment  before.  In  a  little  closet  adjoining,  where  he 
kept  his  private  manuscripts,  are  the  clothes  he  last  wore, 
his  cane  and  belt,  to  which  a  hammer  and  a  small  axe  are 
attached,  and  his  sword.  A  narrow  staircase  led  from  the 
study  to  his  sleeping  room  above,  by  which  he  could  come 
down  at  night  and  work  while  his  family  slept.  The  silence 


A  u  prospect”  recovered. 


69 


about  tbe  place  is  solemn  and  breathless,  as  if  it  waited  to 
be  broken  by  his  returning  footstep.  I  felt  an  awe  in  tread¬ 
ing  these  lonely  halls,  like  that  which  impressed  me  before 
the  grave  of  Washington — a  feeling  that  hallowed  the  spot, 
as  if  there  yet  lingered  a  low  vibration  of  the  lyre,  though 
the  minstrel  had  departed  forever  ! 

Plucking  a  wild  rose  that  grew  near  the  walls,  I  left 
Abbotsford,  embosomed  among  the  trees,  and  turned  into  a 
green  lane  that  led  down  to  Melrose.  We  went  immediately 
to  the  Abbey,  in  the  lower  part  of  the  village,  near  the 
Tweed.  As  I  approached  the  gate,  the  porteress  came  out, 
and  having  scrutinized  me  rather  sharply,  asked  my  name. 
I  told  her; — “  Well,”  she  added,  “  there  is  a  prospect  here 
for  you.”  Thinking  she  alluded  to  the  ruin,  I  replied  : 
“  Yes,  the  view  is  certainly  very  fine.”  “  Oh  !  I  don’t  mean 
that,”  she  replied,  “  a  young  gentleman  left  a  prospect  here 
for  you  !” — whereupon  she  brought  out  a  spy-glass,  which  I 
recognized  as  one  that  our  German  comrade  had  given  to  me. 
He  had  gone  on,  and  hoped  to  meet  us  at  Jedburgh. 

Melrose  is  the  finest  remaining  specimen  of  Gothic  archi¬ 
tecture  in  Scotland.  Some  of  the  sculptured  flowers  in  the 
cloister  arches  are  remarkably  beautiful  and  delicate,  and  the 
two  windows — the  south  and  east  oriels — are  of  a  lightness 
and  grace  of  execution  really  surprising.  We  saw  the  tomb 
of  Michael  Scott,  of  King  Alexander  II.,  and  that  of  the 
Douglas,  marked  with  a  sword.  The  heart  of  Bruce  is 
supposed  to  have  been  buried  beneath  the  high  altar.  The 
chancel  is  all  open  to  the  sky,  and  rooks  build  their  nests 
among  the  wild  ivy  that  climbs  over  the  crumbling  arches. 
One  of  these  came  tamely  down  and  perched  upon  the  hand 


10 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  our  guide.  By  a  winding  stair  in  one  of  the  towers  we 
mounted  to  the  top  of  the  arch  and  looked  down  on  the 
grassy  floor.  I  sat  on  the  broken  pillar,  which  Scott  always 
used  for  a  seat  when  he  visited  the  Abbey,  and  read  the  dis- 
interring  of  the  magic  book,  in  the  “  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel.”  I  never  comprehended  its  full  beauty  until  then, 
and  the  memory  of  Melrose  will  give  it  a  peculiar  interest,  in 
the  future.  When  we  left,  I  was  willing  to  say,  with  the 
Minstrel : 

“  Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair  1” 

After  seeing  the  home  and  favorite  haunt  of  Scott,  we  felt 
a  wish  to  stand  by  his  grave,  but  we  had  Ancrum  Moor  to 
pass  before  night,  and  the  Tweed  was  between  us  and  Dry- 
burgh  Abbey.  We  did  not  wish  to  try  another  watery 
adventure,  and  therefore  walked  on  to  the  village  of  Ancrum, 
where  a  gate-keeper  on  the  >oad  gave  us  lodging  and  good 
fare,  for  a  moderate  price.  Many  of  this  class  practise  this 
double  employment,  and  the  economical  traveller,  who  looks 
more  to  comfort  than  luxury,  will  not  fail  to  patronize  them. 

Next  morning  we  took  a  foot-path  over  the  hills  to  Jed¬ 
burgh.  From  the  summit  there  was  a  lovely  view  of  the 
valley  of  the  Teviot,  with  the  blue  Cheviots  in  the  distance. 
I  thought  of  Pringle’s  beautiful  farewell  : 

“  Our  native  land,  our  native  vale, 

A  long,  a  last  adieu, 

Farewell  to  bonny  Teviot-dale, 

And  Cheviot’s  mountains  blue!” 

The  poet  was  born  in  the  valley  below,  and  one  that  looks 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


n 


upon  its  beauty  cannot  wonder  how  his  heart  clung  to  the 
scenes  he  was  leaving.  We  saw  Jedburgh  and  its  majestic 
old  Abbey,  and  ascended  the  valley  of  the  Jed  towards  the 
Cheviots.  The  hills,  covered  with  woods  of  a  luxuriant  and 
even  gorgeous  beauty  of  foliage,  shut  out  this  lovely  glen 
completely  from  the  world.  I  found  myself  continually 
coveting  the  lonely  dwellings  that  were  perched  on  the 
rocky  heights,  or  nestled,  like  fairy  pavilions,  in  the  laps 
of  the  groves.  These  forests  formerly  furnished  the  wood 
for  the  celebrated  Jedwood  axe,  used  in  the  border  fo¬ 
rays. 

As  we  continued  ascending,  the  prospect  behind  us  widen¬ 
ed,  until  we  reached  the  summit  of  the  Carter  Fell,  whence 
there  is  a  view  of  great  extent  and  beauty.  The  Eildon 
Hills,  though  twenty -five  miles  distant,  seemed  in  the  fore¬ 
ground  of  the  picture.  With  a  glass,  Edinburgh  Castle 
might  be  seen  over  the  dim  outline  of  the  Muirfoot  Hills. 
After  crossing  the  border,  we  passed  the  scene  of  the 
encounter  between  Percy  and  Douglass,  celebrated  in 
“  Chevy  Chase,”  and  at  the  lonely  inn  of  Whitelee,  in  the 
valley  below,  took  up  our  quarters  for  the  night. 

Travellers  have  described  the  Cheviots  as  being  bleak 
and  uninteresting.  Although  they  are  bare  and  brown,  to 
me  the  scenery  was  of  a  character  of  beauty  entirely  original. 
They  are  not  rugged  and  broken  like  the  Highlands,  but  lift 
their  round  backs  gracefully  from  the  plain,  while  the  mori| 

-  distant  ranges  are  clad  in  many  an  airy  hue.  Willis  quaintly 
and  truly  remarks,  that  travellers  only  tell  you  the  picture 
produced  in  their  own  brain  by  what  they  see,  otherwise  the 
world  would  be  like  a  pawnbroker’s  shop,  where  each 


72 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


traveller  wears  tlie  cast-off  clotlies  of  others.  Therefore  let 
no  one,  of  a  gloomy  temperament,  journeying  over  the 
Cheviots  in  dull  November,  arraign  me  for  having  falsely 
praised  their  beauty 

I  was  somewhat  amused  with  seeing  a  splendid  carriage 
with  footmen  and  outriders,  crossing  the  mountain,  the 
glorious  landscape  full  in  view,  and  the  richly  dressed  lady 
within  lying  fast  asleep  !  It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to 
meet  carriages  in  the  Highlands,  in  which  the  occupants 
are  comfortably  reading,  while  being  whirled  through  the 
finest  scenery.  And  apropos  of  this  subject,  my  German 
friend  related  to  me  an  incident.  His  brother  was  travelling 
on  the  Rhine,  and  when  in  the  midst  of  the  grandest  scenes, 
met  a  carriage  containing  an  English  gentleman  and  lady, 
both  asleep,  while  on  the  seat  behind  was  stationed  an 
artist,  sketching  away  with  all  his  might.  He  asked  the 
latter  the  reason  of  his  industry,  when  he  answered,  “  Oh  ! 
my  lord  wishes  to  see  every  night  what  he  has  passed 
during  the  day,  and  so  I  sketch  as  we  go  along!  ” 

The  hills,  particularly  on  the  English  side,  are  covered 
with  flocks  of  sheep,  and  lazy  shepherds  lay  basking  in  the 
sun,  among  the  purple  heather,  with  their  shaggy  black 
dogs  beside  them.  On  many  of  the  hills  are  landmarks, 
by  which,  when  the  snow  has  covered  all  the  tracks,  they 
can  direct  their  way.  After  walking  many  miles  through 
green  valleys,  down  which  flowed  the  Red  Water,  its  very 
name  telling  of  the  conflicts  which  had  crimsoned  its  tide, 
we  came  to  the  moors,  and  ten  miles  of  blacker,  drearier 
waste  I  never  saw.  Before  entering  them  we  passed  the 
pretty  little  village  of  Otterburn,  near  the  scene  of  the 


THE  INN  AT  WHELPINGTON  KNOWES.  '73 

battle.  I  brought  away  a  wild  flower  that  grew  on  soil 
enriched  by  the  blood  of  the  Percys.  On  the  village  inn  is 
their  ancient  coat  of  arms,  a  lion  rampant  on  a  field  of  gold, 
with  the  motto,  “  Esperance  en  Dieu  ” 

Scarcely  a  house  or  a  tree  enlivened  the  black  waste, 
and  even  the  road  was  marked  on  each  side  by  high  poles, 
to  direct  the  traveller  in  winter.  We  were  glad  when  at 
length  the  green  fields  came  again  in  sight,  and  the  little 
village  of  Whelpington  Knowes,  with  its  old  ivy-grown 
church  tower,  welcomed  us  after  the  lonely  walk. 

At  the  only  inn  in  the  place,  I  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  understand  the  servants,  who  spoke  the  rugged  North¬ 
umbrian  dialect.  The  landlady,  who  spoke  tolerable 
English,  came  to  our  assistance,  and  received  us  with  more 
cordiality  than  our  knapsacks  and  dusty  garments  led  us  to 
expect.  She  quartered  us  for  the  night  in  an  out-building, 
which  appeared  to  be  a  kind  of  hunting  lodge.  It  was  a  single 
room,  with  two  beds,  fowling-pieces  and  shot-belts  hanging 
on  the  walls,  and  some  stuffed  grouse  on  the  top  of  a  quaint 
old  wardrobe.  The  evening  was  cool,  and  the  unintelligible 
servants  made  a  cheerful  fire  on  the  hearth.  Our  supper 
was  served  in  a  room  of  the  inn,  which  was  occupied  by 
a  young  lady,  whose  appearance  contrasted  strangely  with 
her  situation.  She  was  pale,  but  handsome,  dressed  with 
perfect  taste,  and  the  few  words  she  spoke  gave  evidence  of 
thorough  refinement  and  cultivation.  Her  face  was  very 
sad,  her  manner  subdued,  yet  with  a  quiet  dignity  which 
forced  the  landlady,  who  made  very  unceremonious  use  of 
her  room,  to  treat  her  with  respect.  A  shelf  of  classic 

authors,  and  some  flower-pots  in  the  window,  were  the 

4 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


n 

tokens  of  her  tastes.  Here  is  a  romance,  if  not  a  tragedy,  I 
thought,  but  I  did  not  venture  to  ask  any  questions. 

As  one  specimen  of  the  intelligence  of  this  part  of  Eng¬ 
land,  we  saw  a  board  conspicuously  posted  at  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  a  private  road,  declaring  that  “  all  persons 
travelling  this  way  will  b %  jier secreted.”  As  the  road  led  to 
a  church,  however,  there  may  have  been  a  design  in  the 
expression. 

On  the  fifth  day  after  leaving  Edinburgh,  we  reached  a  hill 
overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Tyne  and  the  German  Ocean, 
as  sunset  was  reddening  in  the  west.  A  cloud  of  coal-smoke 
made  us  aware  of  the  vicinity  of  Newcastle.  On  the  summit 
of  the  hill  a  large  cattle  fair  was  being  held,  and  crowds  of 
people  were  gathered  in  and  around  a  camp  of  gaudily 
decorated  tents.  Fires  were  kindled  here  and  there,  and 
drinking,  carousing,  and  horse-racing,  were  flourishing  in  full 
vigor.  After  entering  the  town,  we  applied  to  a  policeman 
to  conduct  us  to  a  cheap  lodging-place.  He  readily  took  us 
to  a  house  in  a  dingy  street  near  the  river,  inhabited  by  a 
poor  family,  who  furnished  us  with  beds  (probably  their 
own),  and  cooked  us  frugal  meals,  during  the  two  days  that 
we  were  obliged  to  await  the  departure  of  a  steamer  for 
London. 

We  set  out  the  next  morning  to  hunt  the  Roman  Wall. 
Passing  the  fine  buildings  in  the  centre  of  the  city  and  the 
lofty  monument  to  Earl  Grey,  we  went  towards  the  western 
gate  and  soon  came  to  the  ruins  of  a  building,  about  whose 
origin  there  could  be  no  doubt.  It  stood  there,  blackened 
by  the  rust  of  ages,  a  remnant  of  power  passed  away. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  massive  round  tower,  with  its 


DISTRESS  AMONG  THE  MINERS. 


75 


projecting  ornaments,  such  as  are  often  seen  in  the  ruder 
works  of  the  Romans.  On  each  side  a  fragment  of  wall 
remained  standing,  and  there  appeared  to  be  a  chamber 
in  the  interior,  which  was  choked  up  with  rubbish.  There 
is  another  tower,  much  higher,  in  a  public  square  in  another 
part  of  the  city,  a  portion  of  which  is  fitted  up  as  a  dwell¬ 
ing  for  the  family  which  takes  care  of  it ;  but  there  was 
such  a  ridiculous  contrast  between  the  ivy-grown  top,  and 
the  handsome  modern  windows  and  doors  of  the  lower  story, 
that  it  did  not  impress  me  half  as  much  as  the  first,  with 
all  its  neglect.  These  are  the  farthest  limits  of  that  power 
whose  mighty  works  I  hope  hereafter  to  view  at  the  seat  of 
her  grandeur  and  glory. 

I  witnessed  a  scene  at  Newcastle  that  cannot  soon  be 
forgotten ;  as  it  showed  more  plainly  than  I  had  before  an 
opportunity  of  observing,  the  state  to  which  the  laboring 
classes  of  England  are  reduced.  Hearing  singing  in  the 
street  under  my  window  one  morning,  I  looked  out  and 
saw  a  body  of  men,  apparently  of  the  lower  class,  but 
decent  and  sober-looking,  who  were  singing  in  a  rude  and 
plaintive  strain  some  ballad,  the  purport  of  which  I  could 
not  understand.  On  making  inquiry,  I  discovered  it  was 
part  of  a  body  of  miners,  who,  about  eighteen  weeks  before, 
in  consequence  of  not  being  able  to  support  their  families 
with  the  small  pittance  allowed  them,  had  struck  for  higher 
wages.  This  their  employers  refused  to  give  them,  and 
sent  to  Wales,  where  they  obtained  workmen  at  the  former 
price.  The  houses  these  laborers  had  occupied  were  all 
taken  from  them,  and  for  eighteen  weeks  they  had  had  no 
other  means  of  subsistence  than  the  casual  charity  given 


76 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


them  for  singing  the  story  of  their  wrongs.  It  made  my 

% 

blood  boil  to  hear  those  tones,  wrung  from  the  heart  of 
poverty  by  the  hand  of  tyranny.  The  ignorance,  permitted 
by  the  government,  causes  an  unheard  amount  of  misery 
and  degradation.  We  heard  afterwards  in  the  streets, 
another  company  who  played  on  musical  instruments. 
Beneath  the  proud  swell  of  England’s  martial  airs,  there 
sounded  to  my  ears  a  tone  whose  gathering  murmur  will 
make  itself  heard  ere  long  by  the  dull  ears  of  Power. 

At  last,  at  the  appointed  time,  we  found  ourselves  on 
board  the  “  London  Merchant,”  in  the  muddy  Tyne,  waiting 
for  the  tide  to  rise  high  enough  to  permit  us  to  descend 
the  river.  There  is  great  competition  among  the  steam¬ 
boats  this  summer,  and  the  price  of  passage  to  London  is 
reduced  to  five  and  ten  shillings.  The  second  cabin,  how¬ 
ever,  is  a  place  of  tolerable  comfort,  and  as  the  steward  had 
promised  to  keep  berths  for  us,  we  engaged  passage.  On 
going  below,  the  first  person  we  met  was  our  German  com¬ 
rade,  who  had  preceded  us  all  the  way  from  Edinburgh.  It 
was  a  joyous  meeting  on  both  sides.  Following  the  wind¬ 
ings  of  the  narrow  river,  wre  passed  Sunderland  and  Tyne¬ 
mouth,  where  it  expands  into  the  German  Ocean.  The 
water  was  barely  stirred  by  a  gentle  wind,  and  little  re¬ 
sembled  the  stormy  sea  I  expected  to  find.  We  glided  over 
the  smooth  surface,  watching  the  blue  line  of  the  distant 
shore  till  dark,  when  I  went  below  expecting  to  enjoy  a 
few  hours’  oblivion.  But  the  faithless  stewrard  had  given 
up  the  promised  berth  to  another,  and  it  was  only  with 
difficulty  that  I  secured  a  seat  by  the  cabin  table,  wThere  I 
dozed  half  the  night  with  my  head  on  my  arms.  It  grew  at 


LONDON  AT  DAWN. 


11 


last  too  close  and  wearisome  ;  I  went  up  on  deck  and  lay 
down  on  the  windlass,  taking  care  to  balance  myself  well 
before  going  to  sleep.  The  earliest  light  of  dawn  awoke  me 
to  a  consciousness  of  damp  clothes  and  bruise'd  limbs.  We 
were  in  sight  of  the  low  shore  the  whole  day,  sometimes 
seeing  the  dim  outline  of  a  church,  or  a  group  of  trees  over 
the  downs  or  flat  beds  of  sand,  which  border  the  eastern 
coast  of  England.  About  dark,  the  red  light  of  the  TsTore 
was  seen,  and  we  hoped  before  many  hours  to  be  in  London. 
The  lights  of  Gravesend  were  passed,  but  about  ten  o’clock, 
as  we  entered  the  narrow  channel  of  the  Thames,  we  struck 
another  steamboat  in  the  darkness,  and  were  obliged  to  cast 
anchor  for  some  time. 

When  I  went  on  deck  in  the  gray  light  of  morning 
again,  we  were  gliding  up  a  narrow,  muddy  river,  between 
rows  of  gloomy  buildings,  with  many  vessels  lying  at 
anchor.  As  the  day  brightened,  we  turned  a  point,  and 
right  before  me  lay  a  vast  crowd  of  vessels,  and  in  the 
distance,  above  the  wilderness  of  buildings,  stood  a  dim, 

gigantic  dome  in  the  sky  ;  what  a  bound  my  heart  gave  at 

✓ 

the  sight !  And  the  tall  pillar  that  stood  near  it — I  did 
not  need  a  second  glance  to  recognize  the  Monument.  I 
knew  the  majestic  bridge  that  spanned  the  river  above  ; 
but  on  the  right  bank  a  cluster  of  massive  buildings, 
crowned  with  many  a  turret,  attracted  my  eye.  A  crowd 
of  oldt  associations  pressed  bewilderingly  upon  the  mind,  to 
see  standing  there,  grim  and  dark  with  many  a  bloody 
page  of  England’s  history — the  Tower  of  London  !  The 
morning  sky  was  as  yet  but  faintly  obscured  by  the  coal- 
smoke,  and  in  the  misty  light  of  coming  sunrise,  all  objects 


78 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


seemed  grander  than  their  wont.  In  spite  of  the  thrilling 
interest  of  the  scene,  I  could  not  help  recalling  Byron’s 
ludicrous  but  most  expressive  description. 

“  A  mighty  mass  of  brick  and  smoke  and  shipping, 

Dirty  and  dusky,  but  as  wide  as  eye 
Can  reach ;  with  here  and  there  a  sail  just  skipping 
In  sight,  then  lost  amidst  the  forestry 
Of  masts;  a  wilderness  of  steeples  peeping 
On  tip-toe  through  their  sea-coal  canopy ; 

A  huge  dun  cupola,  like  a  fool’s-cap  crown 
On  a  fool’s  head, — and  there  is  London  town.* 


CHAPTER  VII. 


A  WEEK  IN  LONDON. 

Entering  London-Cheap  Lodgings  and  Bad  Company — The  Thoroughfares— St, 
Paul’s— View  from  the  Dome — St.  James’s  Park — Westminster  Abbey — Poet’s 
Corner — Tombs  of  Sovereigns — Hall  of  the  Bath — The  Thames  Tunnel — The  Iowas 
again — The  Parks — Crime  and  Misery  in  London — The  End  of  our  Sojourn — Cost 
of  the  Tour  through  Scotland. 

London,  Aug.  22,  1844. 

In  the  course  of  time  we  came  to  anchor  in  the  stream ; 
skiffs  from  the  shore  pulled  alongside,  and  after  some  little 
quarrelling,  we  were  safely  deposited  in  one,  with  a  party 
who  desired  to  be  landed  at  the  Tower  Stairs.  The  dark 
walls  frowned  above  us  as  we  mounted  from  the  water  and 
passed  into  an  open  square  on  the  outside  of  the  moat. 
The  laborers  were  about  commencing  work,  the  fashionable 
day  having  just  closed,  but  there  was  still  noise  and  bustle 
enough  in  the  streets,  particularly  when  we  reached  White¬ 
chapel,  part  of  the  great  thoroughfare,  extending  through 
the  heart  of  London  to  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  Parlia¬ 
ment  buildings.  Our  first  care  was  to  find  a  resting-place, 
and  we  had  not  wandered  far  along  Whitechapel  before  the 


I 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


80 


signs  “  Chop-House,”  “  Lodgings,’'  met  our  eye.  "We  select¬ 
ed  one  of  the  most  decent  of  these  places,  where  we 
obtained  bare  rooms  and  questionable  beds  for  a  shilling  a 
day,  while  the  public  room  supplied  us  with  a  chop  and 
potatoes  for  sixpence.  Our  company,  I  am  afraid,  was  not 
the  most  respectable  which  London  can  boast  of — actors  of 
low  grade,  from  low  theatres  ;  dissolute  shop  boys,  sailors 
and  cads,  and  women  whose  roses  were  not  the  natural  bloom 
of  English  air.  We  did  not  cultivate  their  acquaintance, 
but  became  so  disgusted  after  a  day  or  two  that  we  shifted 
our  quarters  to  the  Aldgate  Coffee  House,  where  the  terms 
were  equally  cheap  and  the  society  a  very  little  better. 

After  breakfast,  on  the  first  day,  wre  set  out  for  a  walk 
through  London.  Entering  the  main  artery  of  this  mighty 
city,  we  passed  on  through  Aldgate  and  Cornhill,  to  St. 
Paul’s,  with  still  increasing  winder.  Further  on,  through 
Fleet  street  and  the  Strand — what  a  world!  Here  come 
the  ever-thronging,  ever-rolling  waves  of  life,  pressing  and 
whirling  on  in  their  tumultuous  career.  Here  day  and  night 
pours  the  stream  of  human  beings,  seeming,  amid  the  roar 
and  din  and  clatter  of  the  passing  vehicles,  like  the  tide  of 
some  great  combat.  How  lonely  it  makes  one  to  stand  still 
and  feel  that  of  all  the  mighty  throng  which  divides  itself 
around  him,  not  a  being  knows  or  cares  for  him  !  What 
knows  he  too  of  the  thousands  who  pass  him  by  !  How 
many  who  bear  the  impress  of  godlike  virtue,  or  hide 
beneath  a  goodly  countenance  a  heart  black  with  crime ! 
How  many  fiery  spirits,  all  glowing  with  hope  for  the  yet 
unclouded  future,  or  brooding  over  a  darkened  and  desolate 
past  in  the  agony  of  despair  !  There  is  a  sublimity  in  this 


st.  Paul’s. 


81 


human  Niagara  that  makes  one  look  on  his  own  race  with 

O 

something  of  awe. 

St.  Paul’s  is  on  a  scale  of  grandeur  excelling  every  thing 
I  have  yet  seen.  The  dome  seems  to  stand  in  the  sky,  as 
you  look  up  to  it ;  the  distance  from  which  you  view  it, 
combined  with  the  atmosphere  of  Londoli,  gives  it  a  dim, 
shadowy  appearance,  that  startles  one  with  its  immensity. 
The  roof  from  which  the  dome  springs  is  itself  as  high  as  the 
spires  of  most  other  churches  ;  blackened  for  two  hundred 
years  with  the  coal-smoke  of  London,  it  stands  like  a  relic 
of  the  giant  architecture  of  the  early  world.  The  interior 
is  what  one  would  expect  to  behold,  after  viewing  the  out¬ 
side.  A  maze  of  grand  arches  on  every  side,  encompasses 
the  dome,  at  which  you  gaze  up  as  at  the  sky  ;  and  from 
every  pillar  and  wall  look  down  the  marble  forms  of  the 
dead.  There  is  scarcely  a  vacant  niche  left  in  all  this 
mighty  hall,  so  many  are  the  statues  that  meet  one  on  every 
side.  With  the  exception  of  John  Howard,  Sir  Astley 
Cooper  and  Wren,  whose  monument  is  the  church  itself, 
they  are  ail  to  military  men.  I  thought  if  they  had  all  been 
removed  except  Howard’s,  it  would  better  have  suited  such 
a  temple,  and  the  great  soul  it  commemorated. 

I  never  was  more  impressed  with  the  grandeur  of  human 
invention,  than  when  ascending  the  dome.  I  could  with 
difficulty  conceive  the  means  by  which  such  a  mighty  edi¬ 
fice  had  been  lifted  into  the  air.  The  small  frame  of  Sir 
Christopher  Wren  must  have  contained  a  mind  capable  of 
vast  conceptions.  The  dome  is  like  the  summit  of  a  moun¬ 
tain  ;  so  wide  is  the  prospect,  and  so  great  the  pile  upon 

which  you  stand.  London  lay  beneath  us,  like  an  ant-hill, 

4* 


82 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


with  the  black  insects  swarming  to  and  fro  in  their  lo::g 
avenues,  the  sound  of  their  employments  coming  up  like  the 
roar  of  the  sea.  A  cloud  of  coal-smoke  hung  over  it, 
through  which  many  a  pointed  spire  was  thrust  up ;  some¬ 
times  the  wind  would  blow  it  aside  for  a  moment,  and  the 
thousands  of  red  roofs  would  shine  out  clearer.  The  bridg¬ 
ed  Thames,  covered  with  craft  of  all  sizes,  wound  beneath 
us  like  a  ringed  and  spotted  serpent. 

It  was  a  relief  to  get  into  St.  James’s  Park,  among  the 
trees  and  flowers  again.  Here  beautiful  winding  walks  led 
around  little  lakes,  in  which  were  hundreds  of  water-fowl, 
swimming.  Groups  of  merry  children  were  sporting  on  the 
green  lawn,  enjoying  their  privilege  of  roaming  everywhere 
at  will,  while  the  older  bipeds  were  confined  to  the  regular 

t 

walks.  At  the  western  end  stood  Buckingham  Palace,  look¬ 
ing  over  the  trees  towards  St.  Paul’s  ;  and  through  the 
grove  on  the  eminence  above,  the  towers  of  St.  James’s 
could  be  seen.  But  there  was  a  dim  building  with  two 
lofty  square  towers,  decorated  with  a  profusion  of  pointed 
Gothic  pinnacles,  that  I  looked  at  with  more  interest  than 
these  appendages  of  royalty.  I  could  not  linger  long  in 
its  vicinity,  but  going  back  again  by  the  Horse  Guards,  took 
the  road  to  Westminster  Abbey. 

We  approached  by  the  general  entrance,  Poet’s  Corner. 
I  hardly  stopped  to  look  at  the  elaborate  exterior  of  Henry 
YII.’s  Chapel,  but  passed  on  to  the  door.  On  entering, 
the  first  thing  that  met  my  eyes  were  the  words,  “  On  rare 
Ben  Jonson,”  under  his  bust.  Near  by  stood  the  monu- 
ments  of  Spenser  and  Gay,  and  a  few  paces  further  looked 
down  the  sublime  countenance  of  Milton.  Never  was  a  spot 


POE'i’s  CORNER. 


83 


so  full  of  intense  interest.  The  light  was  just  dim  enough 
to  give  it  a  solemn,  religious  air,  making  the  marble  forms 
of  poets  and  philosophers  so  shadowy  and  impressive,  that 
I  felt  as  if  standing  in  their  living  presence.  Every  step 
called  up  some  mind  linked  with  the  associations  of  my 
childhood.  There  was  the  gentle  feminine  countenance  of 
Thomson,  and  the  majestic  head  of  Dryden  ;  Addison  with 
his  classic  features,  and  Gray,  full  of  the  lire  of  lofty 
thought.  In  another  chamber,  I  paused  long  before  the 
tablet  to  Shakspeare ;  and  while  looking  at  the  monument 
of  Garrick,  started  to  find  that  I  stood  upon  his  grave. 
What  a  glorious  galaxy  of  genius  is  here  collected — what  a 
constellation  of  stars  whose  light  is  immortal !  The  mind  is 
fettered  by  their  spirit,  everything  is  forgotten  but  the 
mighty  dead,  who  still  “  rule  us  from  their  urns.” 

The  side-chapels  are  filled  with  tombs  of  knightly  fami¬ 
lies,  the  husband  and  wife  lying  on  their  backs  on  the  tombs, 
with  their  hands  clasped,  while  their  children,  about  the  size 
of  dolls,  are  kneeling  around.  Numberless  are  the  Barons 

X 

and  Earls  and  Dukes,  whose  grim  effigies  stare  from  their 
tombs.  In  opposite  chapels  are  the  tombs  of  Mary  and 
Elizabeth,  and  near  the  former  that  of  Darnley.  After 
having  visited  many  of  the  scenes  of  her  life,  it  was  with  no 
ordinary  emotion  that  I  stood  by  the  sepulchre  of  Mary. 
How  differently  one  looks  upon  it  and  upon  that  of  the 
proud  Elizabeth  ! 

We  descended  to  the  Chapel  of  Edward  the  Confessor, 
within  the  splendid  shrine  of  which  his  ashes  repose.  Here 
the  chair  on  which  the  English  monarchs  have  been  crowned 
for  several  hundred  years  was  exhibited.  Under  the  seat 


84 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


is  the  stone,  brought  from  the  Abbey  of  Scone,  whereon  the 
Kings  of  Scotland  were  crowned.  The  chair  is  of  oak, 
carved  and  hacked  over  with  names,  and  on  the  bottom  some 
one  has  recorded  his  name  with  the  fact  that  he  once  slept 
in  it.  We  sat  down  and  rested  in  it  without  ceremony. 
Near  this  is  the  hall  where  the  Knights  of  the  order  of  the  Bath 
met.  Over  each  seat  their  dusty  banners  are  still  hanging, 
each  with  its  crest,  and  their  armor  is  rusting  upon  the  wall. 
It  resembled  a  banqueting  hall  of  the  olden  time,  where  the 
knights  had  left  their  seats  for  a  moment  vacant.  Entering 
the  nave,  we  were  lost  in  the  wilderness  of  sculpture.  Here 
stood  the  forms  of  Pitt,  Fox,  Burke,  Sheridan  and  Watts, 
from  the  chisels  of  Chantry,  Bacon  and  Westmacott. 
Further  down  were  Sir  Isaac  Newton  and  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller — opposite  Andre,  and  Paoli,  the  Italian,  who  died 
here  in  exile.  How  can  I  convey  an  idea  of  the  scene  ! 
Notwithstanding  all  the  descriptions  I  had  read,  I  was  totally 
unprepared  for  the  reality,  nor  could  I  have  anticipated  the 
hushed  and  breathless  interest  with  which  I  paced  the  dim 
aisles,  gazing,  at  every  step,  on  the  last  resting  place  of  some 
great  and  familiar  name.  A  place  so  sacred  to  all  who 
inherit  the  English  tongue,  is  worthy  of  a  special  pilgrimage 
across  the  deep.  To  those  who  are  unable  to  visit  it,  a  de¬ 
scription  may  be  interesting ;  but  so  far  does  it  fall  short  of 
the  scene  itself,  that  if  I  thought  it  would  induce  a  few  of 
our  wealthy  idlers,  or  even  those  who,  like  myself,  must 
travel  with  toil  and  privation,  to  come  hither,  I  would  write 
till  the  pen  dropped  from  my  hand. 

We  walked  down  the  Thames,  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  Wapping.  Over  the  mouth  of  the  Tunnel  is  a  large 


THE  THAMES  TUNNEL. 


85 


circular  building,  with  a  dome  to  light  the  entrance  below. 
Paying  the  fee  of  a  penny,  we  descended  by  a  winding 
staircase  to  the  bottom,  which  is  seventy-three  feet  below 
the  surface.  The  carriage-way,  still  unfinished,  will  extend 
further  into  the  city.  From  the  bottom  the  view  of  the  two 
arches  of  the  Tunnel,  brill* antly  lighted  with  gas,  is  very 
fine  ;  it  has  a  much  less  heavy  and  gloomy  appearance  than 
I  expected.  As  we  walked  along  under  the  bed  of  the 
river,  two  or  three  girls  at  one  end  began  playing  on  the 
French  horn  and  bugle,  and  the  echoes,  when  not  sufficient 
to  confuse  the  melody,  were  remarkably  beautiful.  Between 
the  arches  of  the  division  separating  the  two  passages,  are 
shops,  occupied  by  venders  of  fancy  articles,  views  of  the 
Tunnel,  engravings,  &c.  In  the  middle  is  a  small  printing 
press,  where  a  sheet  containing  a  description  of  the  whole 
work  is  printed  for  those  who  desire  it.  As  I  was  no  strang¬ 
er  to  this  art,  I  requested  the  boy  to  let  me  print  one  my¬ 
self,  but  he  had  such  a  bad  roller  I  did  not  succeed  in  get¬ 
ting  a  good  impression.  The  air  within  is  somewhat  damp, 
but  fresh  and  agreeably  cool,  and  one  can  scarcely  realize  in 
walking  along  the  light  passage,  that  a  river  is  rolling  above 
his  head.  The  immense  solidity  and  compactness  of  the 
structure  precludes  the  danger  of  accident,  each  of  the  sides 
being  arched  outwards,  so  that  the  heaviest  pressure  only 
strengthens  the  work.  It  will  long  remain  a  noble  monu¬ 
ment  of  human  daring  and  ingenuity. 

We  spent  a  day  in  visiting  the  lung  of  London ,  as  the 
two  grand  parks  have  been  called.  From  the  Strand 
through  Regent  Circus,  the  centre  of  the  fashionable  part  of 
the  city,  we  passed  to  Piccadilly,  calling  on  our  way  to  see 


86 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


our  old  friends,  the  Iowas.  They  were  at  the  Egyptian 
Hall,  in  connexion  with  Catlin’s  Indian  collection.  The 
old  braves  knew  us  at  once,  particularly  Blister-Feet,  who 
used  often  to  walk  a  line  on  deck  with  me,  at  sea.  Further 
along  Piccadilly  is  Wellington’s  mansion,  Apsley  House, 
and  nearly  opposite  it,  in  the  corner  of  Hyde  Park,  stands 
the  colossal  statue  of  Achilles,  cast  from  cannon  taken  at 
Salamanca  and  Vittoria.  The  Park  resembles  an  open  com¬ 
mon,  with  here  and  there  a  grove  of  trees,  intersected  by 
carriage  roads.  It  is  like  getting  into  the  country  again  to  be 
out  on  its  broad,  green  held,  with  the  city  seen  dimly  around 
through  the  smoky  atmosphere.  We  walked  for  a  mile  or 
two  along  the  shady  avenues  and  over  the  lawns,  having  a 
view  of  the  princely  terraces  and  gardens  on  one  hand,  and 
the  gentle  outline  of  Primrose  Hill  on  the  other.  Regent’s 
Park  itself  covers  a  space  of  nearly  four  hundred  acres  ! 

But  if  London  is  unsurpassed  in  splendor,  it  has  also  its 
corresponding  share  of  crime.  Notwithstanding  the  large 
and  efficient  body  of  police,  who  do  much  towards  the 
control  of  vice,  one  sees  enough  of  degradation  and  brutality 
in  a  short  time,  to  make  his  heart  sick.  Even  the  public 
thoroughfares  are  thronged  at  night  with  characters  of  the 
lowest  description,  and  it  is  not  expedient  to  go  through 
many  of  the  narrow  bye-haunts  of  the  old  city  in  the  day¬ 
time.  The  police,  who  are  ever  on  the  watch,  immediately 
seize  and  carry  off  any  offender,  but  from  the  statements  of 
persons  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing,  as  well 
as  from  my  own  slight  experience,  I  am  convinced  that  there 
is  an  untold  amount  of  concealed  misery  and  crime. 

I  have  now  been  six  days  in  London,  and  by  making 


EXPENSES  OF  TRAVEL. 


87 


good  use  of  my  feet  and  eyes,  liave  managed  to  become  fa¬ 
miliar  with  almost  every  object  of  interest  within  its  precincts. 
My  whole  time  has  been  devoted  to  sight-seeing,  and  I  have 
neither  made  a  single  acquaintance,  nor  obtained  the  least 
insight  into  the  social  life  of  England.  Having  a  plan 
mapped  out  for  the  day.  I  started  from  my  humble  lodgings 
at  the  Aldgate  Coffee  House,  where  I  slept  off  fatigue  for  a 
shilling  a  night,  and  walked  up  Cheapside  or  down  White¬ 
chapel,  as  the  case  might  be,  hunting  out  my  way  to 
churches,  halls  and  theatres.  In  this  way,  at  a  trifling 
expense,  I  have  perhaps  seen  as  much  as  many  who  spend 
here  double  the  time  and  ten  times  the  money.  Our  whole 
tour  from  Liverpool  hither,  by  way  of  Ireland  and  Scotland, 
cost  us  but  twenty-five  dollars  each  !  although,  except  in  one 
or  two  cases,  we  denied  ourselves  no  necessary  comfort. 
This  shows  that  the  glorious  privilege  of  looking  on  the 
scenes  of  the  old  world  need  not  be  confined  to  people  of 
wealth  and  leisure.  It  may  be  enjoyed  by  all  who  cau 
occasionally  forego  a  little  bodily  comfort  for  the  sake  of 
mental  and  spiritual  gain.  We  leave  this  afternoon  for 
Dover.  To-morrow  I  shall  dine  in  Belgium  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 


ON  THE  CONTINENT. 

Feelings  on  Visiting  the  Continent — Imprisonment  at  Dover — Arrival  at  Ostend— 
A  Stroll — The  Streets  of  Bruges — The  Cathedral — The  Belfry  and  its  Chimes— 
A  Night  on  the  Canal — Ghent — A  Rainy  Ride — Scenery  of  the  Meuse — Entering 
Prussia — Aix-la-Chapelle — The  Cathedral — The  Tomb  of  Charlemagne — The  Ca¬ 
thedral  of  Cologne — Tradition  of  its  Plan — The  Smells  of  the  Streets. 

On  the  Continent  at  last !  How  strangely  look  the 
century-old  towers,  antique  monuments,  and  quaint,  narrow 
streets  of  the  Flemish  cities  !  It  is  an  agreeable  and  yet  a 
painful  sense  of  novelty  to  stand  for  the  first  time  in  the 
midst  of  a  people  whose  language  and  manners  are  different 
from  one’s  own.  The  old  buildings  around,  linked  with 
many  a  stirring  association  of  past  history,  gratify  the 
glowing  anticipations  with  which  one  has  looked  forward 
to  seeing  them,  and  the  fancy  is  busy  at  work  reconciling 
the  real  scene  with  the  ideal ;  but  the  want  of  a  communi¬ 
cation  with  the  living  world  about,  walls  one  up  with  a 
sense  of  loneliness  he  could  not  before  have  conceived. 
I  envied  the  children  in  the  streets  their  childish  language. 
Bidding  adieu  to  our  German  friend,  who  took  passage 


IMPRISONMENT  AT  DOVER. 


89 


direct  to  Havre,  we  left  London  in  the  afternoon,  and  sped 
through  the  green  wooded  lawns  and  vales  of  England,  to 
Dover,  which  we  reached  at  sunset,  passing  by  a  long 
tunnel  through  the  lofty  Shakspeare  Cliff.  We  had  barely 
time,  before  it  grew  dark,  to  ascend  the  cliff.  The  glorious 
coast  view  looked  still  wilder  in  the  gathering  twilight, 
which  soon  hid  from  our  sight  the  dim  hills  of  France.  On 
the  cliff  opposite  frowned  the  massive  battlements  of  the 
Castle,  guarding  the  town,  which  lay  in  a  nook  of  the  rocks 
below.  As  the  Ostend  boat  was  to  leave  at  four  in  the 
morning,  my  cousin  aroused  us  at  three,  and  we  felt  our 
way  down  stairs  in  the  dark.  But  the  landlord  was  reluc¬ 
tant  to  part  with  us ;  we  stamped  and  shouted  and  rang 
bells,  till  the  whole  house  was  in  an  uproar,  for  the  door 
was  double-locked,  and  the  steamboat  bell  began  to  sound. 
At  last  the  scamp  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  we  gave  a 
quick  utterance  to  our  overflowing  wrath,  and  rushed  down 
to  the  boat  but  a  second  or  two  before  it  sailed. 

The  water  of  the  Channel  was  smooth  as  glass,  and  as 
the  sun  rose,  the  far  chalky  cliffs  gleamed  along  the  horizon, 
a  belt  of  fire.  I  waved  a  good-bye  to  Old  England  and 
then  turned  to  see  the  spires  of  Dunkirk,  which  were  visible 
in  the  distance  before  us.  On  the  low  Belgian  coast  we 

y  /  V 

could  see  trees  and  steeples,  resembling  a  mirage  over  the 
level  surface  of  the  sea  ;  and  at  length,  about  ten  o’clock, 
the  square  tower  of  Ostend  came  in  sight.  The  boat  passed 
into  a  long,  muddy  basin,  in  which  many  unwieldy, 
red-sailed  Dutch  craft  were  lying,  and  stopped  beside  a 
high  pier.  Here  amid  the  confusion  of  three  languages,  an 
officer  came  on  board  and  took  charge  of  our  passports 


90 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  luggage.  As  we  could  not  get  the  former  for  two  or 
three  hours,  we  did  not  hurry  the  passing  of  the  latter,  and 
went  on  shore  quite  unencumbered,  for  a  stroll  about  the 
city,  disregarding  the  cries  of  the  hackney-coachmen  on 
the  pier,  “  Hotel  (T  Angleterre”  “Hotel  des  Bains  !  ”  and 
another  who  called  out  in  English,  “I  recommend  you 
to  the  Royal  Hotel,  sir  !  ” 

There  is  little  to  be  seen  in  Ostend.  We  wandered 
through  long  rows  of  plain  yellow  houses,  trying  to  read  the 
Fren'ch  and  Dutch  signs,  and  at  last  came  out  on  the  wall 
near  the  sea.  A  soldier  waved  us  back  as  we  attempted  to 
ascend  it,  and  muttering  some  unintelligible  words,  pointed 
to  a  narrow  street  near.  Following  this  out  of  curiosity,  we 
crossed  the  moat  and  found  ourselves  on  the  great  bathing 
beach.  To  get  out  of  the  hands  of  the  servants  who  imme¬ 
diately  surrounded  us,  we  jumped  into  one  of  the  little 
wagons  and  were  driven  out  into  the  surf. 

To  be  certain  of  fulfilling  the  railroad  regulations,  we  took 
our  seats  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  time.  The  dark 
walls  of  Ostend  soon  vanished  and  we  were  whirled  rapidly 
over  a  country  perfectly  level,  but  highly  fertile  and  well 
cultivated.  Occasionally  there  was  a  ditch  or  row  of  trees, 
but  otherwise  there  was  no  division  between  the  fields,  and 
the  plain  stretched  unbroken  away  into  the  distance.  The 
twenty  miles  to  Bruges  we  made  in  forty  minutes.  The 
streets  of  this  antique  city  are  narrow  and  crooked,  and  the 
pointed,  ornamented  gables  of  the  houses,  produce  a  novel 
impression  on  one  who  has  been  accustomed  to  the  green 
American  forests.  Then  there  was  the  endless  sound  of 
wooden  shoes  clattering  over  the  rough  pavements,  and 


BRUGES. 


91 


people  talking  in  that  most  unmusical  of  all  languages, 
Dutch.  Walking  at  random  through  the  streets,  we  came 
by  chance  upon  the  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  I  shall  long 
remember  hiy  first  impression  of  the  scene  within.  The 
lofty  gothic  ceiling  arched  far  above  my  head  and  through 
the  stained  windows  the  light  came  but  dimly — it  was  all 
still,  solemn  and  religious.  A  few  worshippers  were  kneeling 
in  silence  before  some  of  the  shrines,  and  the  echo  of  my 
tread  was  like  a  profaning  sound.  On  every  side  were  pic¬ 
tures,  saints  and  gilded  shrines.  A  few  steps  removed  one 
from  the  bustle  and  din  of  the  crowd  to  the  stillness  and 
solemnity  of  the  holy  retreat. 

We  learned  from  a  guide,  whom  we  had  engaged  because 
he  spoke  a  few  words  of  English,  that  there  was  still  a 
treckshuyt  line  on  the  canals,  and  that  a  boat  was  to  leave  at 
ten  o’clock  that  night  for  Ghent.  Wishing  to  try  this  old 
Dutch  method  of  travelling,  we  walked  along  the  Ghent 
road  to  the  canal,  where  a  moderate  sized  boat  was  lying. 
Our  baggage  deposited  in  the  plainly  furnished  cabin,  I  ran 
back  to  Bruges,  although  it  was  beginning  to  grow  dark,  to 
get  a  sight  of  the  belfry ;  for  Longfellow’s  lines  had  been 
chiming  through  my  head  all  day  : 

“In  the  market-place  of  Bruges,  stands  the  belfry  old  and  brown, 

Thrice  consumed  and  thrice  rebuilded,  still  it  watches  o’er  the  town.’’ 

And  having  found  the  square,  brown  tower  in  one  corner 
of  the  open  market  place,  we  waited  to  hear  the  chimes, 
which  are  said  to  be  the  finest  in  Europe.  They  rang  out 
at  last  with  a  clear  silvery  tone,  most  beautifully  musical 
indeed.  We  then  returned  to  the  boat  in  the  twilight.  We 


92 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


were  to  leave  in  about  an  hour,  according  to  the  arrange- 

i 

ment,  but  as  yet  there  was  no  sound  to  be  heard,  and  we 
were  the  only  tenants.  However,  trusting  to  Dutch  regu¬ 
larity,  we  went  to  sleep  in  the  full  confidence  of  awakening 
in  Ghent. 

I  awroke  once  in  the  night  and  saw  the  dark  branches  of 
trees  passing  before  the  window,  but  there  was  no  perceptible 
sound  nor  motion  the  boat  glided  along  like  a  dream,  and 
we  were  awakened  next  morning  by  its  striking  against  the 
pier  at  Ghent.  After  paying  three  francs  for  the  whole 
night  journey,  the  captain  gave  us  a  guide  to  the  railroad 
station,  and  as  we  had  nearly  an  hour  before  the  train  left, 
I  went  to  see  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Bavon.  After  leaving 
Ghent,  the  road  passes  through  a  beautiful  country,  culti¬ 
vated  like  a  garden.  The  Dutch  passion  for  flowers  is  dis¬ 
played  in  the  gardens  around  the  cottages  ;  even  every  vacant 
foot  of  ground  along  the  railway  is  planted  with  roses  and 
dahlias.  At  Ghent,  the  morning  being  fair,  we  took  seats  in 
the  open  cars.  About  noon  it  commenced  raining  and  our 
situation  was  soon  anything  but  comfortable.  My  cousin 
had  fortunately  a  waterproof  Indian  blanket  with  him, 
which  he  had  purchased  in  the  Far  West,  and  by  wrapping 
this  around  all  three  of  us,  we  kept  partly  dry.  I  was  much 
amused  at  the  plight  of  a  party  of  young  Englishmen,  who 
were  in  the  same  car  ;  one  of  them  held  a  little  parasol 
which  just  covered  his  hat,  and  sent  the  water  in  streams 
down  on  his  back  and  shoulders. 

We  had  a  misty  view  of  Liege,  through  the  torrents  of 
rain,  and  then  dashed  away  into  the  wild  mountain  scenery 
of  the  Meuse.  Steep,  rocky  hills,  covered  with  pine  and 


ENTERING  PRUSSIA. 


93 


crowned  with  ruined  towers,  hemmed  in  the  winding  and 
swollen  river,  and  the  wet,  cloudy  sky  rested  like  a  canopy 
on  their  summits.  Instead  of  threading  their  mazy  defiles, 
we  plunged  directly  into  the  mountain’s  heart,  flew  over  the 
narrow  valley  on  lofty  and  light-sprung  arches,  and  went 
again  into  the  darkness.  At  Verviers,-  our  baggage  was 
weighed,  examined  and  transferred,  with  ourselves,  to  a 
Prussian  train.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  disputing  on  the 
occasion.  A  lady,  who  had  a  dog  in  a  large  willow  basket, 
was  not  allowed  to  retain  it,  nor  would  they  take  it  as  bag¬ 
gage.  The  matter  was  finally  compromised  by  their  sending 
the  basket,  obliging  her  to  carry  the  dog,  which  was  none  of 
the  smallest,  in  her  arms  !  The  next  station  bore  the  sign 
of  the  black  eagle,  and  here  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  our 
passports.  Advancing  through  long  ranges  of  wooded  hills, 
we  saw  at  length,  in  the  dull  twilight  of  a  rainy  day,  the 
old  kingly  city  of  Aix  la  Chapelle  on  a  plain  below  us. 
After  a  scene  at  the  custom-house,  where  our  baggage  was 
reclaimed  with  tickets  given  at  Verviers,  we  drove  to  the 
Hotel  du  Rhin ,  and  while  warming  our  shivering  limbs  and 
drying  our  damp  garments,  felt  tempted  to  exclaim  with  the 
old  Italian  author  :  “  0 !  holy  and  miraculous  tavern  !” 

The  Cathedral,  with  its  lofty  Gothic  tower,  was  built  by 
the  emperor  Otho  in  the  tenth  century.  It  seems  at  present 
to  be  undergoing  repairs,  for  a  large  scaffold  shut  out  the 
dome.  The  long  hall  was  dim  with  incense  smoke  as  we 
entered,  and  the  organ  sounded  through  the  high  arches  with 
an  effect  that  startled  me.  The  windows  glowed  with  the 
forms  of  kings  and  saints,  and  the  dusty  and  mouldering 
shrines  which  rose  around  were  colored  with  the  light  that 


94 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


came  through.  The  music  pealed  out  like  a  triumphal 
march,  sinking  at  times  into  a  mournful  strain,  as  if  it 
celebrated  and  lamented  the  heroes  who  slept  below.  In 
the  stone  pavement  nearly  under  my  feet  was  a  large  square 
marble  slab,  with  the  words  “  Caropo  Magno.”  It  was 
like  a  dream.,  to  stand  there  on  the  tomb  of  the  mighty  war¬ 
rior,  with  the  lofty  arches  of  the  Cathedral  above,  filled  with 
the  sound  of  the  divine  anthem.  _  I  mused  above  his  ashes 
till  the  music  ceased  and  then  left  the  Cathedral,  that 
nothing  might  break  the  romantic  spell  associated  with  that 
crumbling  pile  and  the  dead  it  covered.  I  have  always 
revered  the  memory  of  Charlemagne.  He  lived  in  a  stern 
age,  but  he  was  in  mind  and  heart  a  man,  and  like  Xapoleon, 
who  placed  the  iron  crown  which  had  lain  with  him  centuries 
in  the  tomb,  upon  his  own  brow,  he  possessed  a  breadth  and 
grandeur  of  mind,  which  the  world  was  forced  to  acknowledge. 

At  noon  we  took  the  chars-a-banc ,  or  second-class  carriages, 
for  fear  of  rain  ;  and  continued  our  journey  over  a  plain  dotted 
with  villages  and  old  chateaux.  Two  or  three  miles  from 
Cologne  we  saw  the  spires  of  the  different  churches,  con¬ 
spicuous  among  which  were  the  unfinished  towers  of  the 
Cathedral,  with  the  enormous  crane  standing  as  it  did  when 
they  left  off  building,  two  hundred  years  ago  or  more.  On 
arriving,  we  drove  to  the  Bonn  railway,  where,  finding  the 
last  train  did  not  leave  for  four  hours,  we  left  our  baggage 
and  set  out  for  the  Cathedral.  Of  all  Gothic  buildings, 
the  plan  of  this  is  certainly  the  most  stupendous ;  even 
ruin  as  it  is,  it  cannot  fail  to  excite  surprise  and  admiration. 
The  King  of  Prussia  has  undertaken  to  complete  it  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  original  plan,  which  was  lately  found  in  the  pos- 


LEGEND  OF  THE  COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL. 


95 


session  of  a  poor  man,  of  whom  it  was  purchased  for  40,000 
florins,  but  the  workmen  have  not  jet  finished  repairing  what 
is  already  built.  The  legend  concerning  this  plan  may  not 
be  known  to  every  one.  It  is  related  of  the  inventor  of  it, 
that  in  despair  of  finding  any  sufficiently  great,  he  was 
walking  one  day  by  the  river,  sketching  with  his  stick  upon 
the  sand,  when  he  finally  hit  upon  one  which  pleased  him 
so  much  that  he  exclaimed,  “  This  shall  be  the  plan  !”  “  I 

will  show  you  a  better  one  than  that  1”  said  a  voice  sudden* 
ly  behind  him,  and  a  certain  black  gentleman  who  figures  in 
many  German  legends  stood  by  him,  and  pulled  from  his 
pocket  a  roll  containing  the  present  plan  of  the  Cathedral. 
The  architect,  amazed  at  its  grandeur,  asked  an  explanation 
of  every  part.  As  he  knew  his  soul  was  to  be  the  price  of 
it,  he  occupied  himself,  while  the  devil  was  explaining,  in 
committing  its  proportions  carefully  to  memory.  Having 
done  this,  he  remarked  that  it  did  not  please  him  and  he 

i 

would  not  take  it.  The  devil,  seeing  through  the  cheat, 
exclaimed  in  his  rage  :  “  You  may  build  your  Cathedral 
according  to  this  plan,  but  you  shall  never  finish  it !”  This 
prediction  seems  likely  to  be  verified,  for  though  it  was  com¬ 
menced  in  1248,  and  continued  for  250  years,  only  the  choir 
and  nave  and  one  tower  to  half  its  proposed  height,  are  finished. 

We  visited  the  chapel  of  the  Eleven  Thousand  Virgins,  the 
walls  of  which  are  full  of  curious  grated  cells,  containing 
their  bones,  and  then  threaded  the  narrow  streets  of  Cologne, 
which  are  quite  dirty  enough  to  justify  Coleridge’s  lines  : 

“  The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known, 

Doth  wash  the  city  of  Cologne  ; 

But  tell  me,  nymphs,  what  power  divine 
Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhinel” 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  RHINE  TO  HEIDELBERG. 

In  Heidelborg — The  Star  Hotel  at  Bonn — Passing  the  Drachenfels — Coblentz  and 
Ehrenbreitstein — The  Charms  of  the  Ehine — Lurlei  Bock  and  its  Echo — A  Rainbow 
at  Oberwesel — Mayence — Ride  to  Frankfort — Hunting  an  Address — Mr.  Richard  S. 
"Willis — The  Festival  at  Darmstadt — Scenery  of  the  Bergstrasse — German  Peasants — 
Fellow  Passengers — Heidelberg  at  Sunset — A  Resting  Place. 

Heidelberg,  August  30,  1844. 

Here  at  last  !  and  a  charming  place  it  is.  This  is  our 
first  morning  in  our  new  rooms,  and  the  sun  streams  warmly 
in  the  eastern  windows,  as  I  write,  while  the  old  castle  rises 
through  the  blue  vapor  on  the  side  of  the  Kaiserstuhl.  The 
Xeckar  rushes  on  below  ;  and  the  Odenwald,  before  me, 
rejoices  with  its  vineyards  in  the  morning  light.  The  bells 
of  the  old  chapel  near  us  are  sounding  most  musically,  and  a 
confused  sound  of  voices  and  the  rolling  of  vehicles  comes  up 
from  the  street.  It  is  a  place  to  live  in  ! 

I  must  go  back  five  or  six  days  and  take  up  the  record  of 
our  journey ings  at  Bonn.  We  had  been  looking  over 
Murrav’s  infallible  Handbook,  and  observed  that  he  recom- 
mended  the  “  Star  ”  hotel  in  that  city,  as  “  the  most  mode- 


THE  STAR  HOTEL  AT  BONK. 


9  Y 

rate  in  its  prices  of  any  on  the  Rhine ;”  so  when  the  train 
from  Cologne  arrived  and  we  were  surrounded,  in  the  dark¬ 
ness  and  confusion,  by  porters  and  valets,  I  called  out : 
“  Hotel  de  V Etoile  d’  Or  !”  our  baggage  and  ourselves  were 
transferred  to  a  stylish  omnibus,  and  in  five  minutes  we 
stopped  under  a  brilliantly -lighted  archway,  where  Mr. 
Joseph  Schmidt  received  us  with  the  usual  number  of  smiles 
and  bows  bestowed  upon  untitled  guests.  We  were  furnished 
with  neat  rooms  at  the  summit  of  the  house,  and  then  de¬ 
scended  to  the  salle  a  manger.  I  found  a  folded  note  by  my 
plate,  which  I  opened.  It  contained  an  engraving  of  the 
front  of  the  hotel,  a  plan  of  the  city  and  catalogue  of  its 
lions,  together  with  a  list  of  the  titled  personages  who  have, 
from  time  to  time,  honored  the  “  Golden  Star”  with  their 
custom.  Among  this  number  were  “  Their  Royal  High¬ 
nesses  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cambridge,  Prince  Albert,” 
etc.  Had  it  not  been  for  fatigue,  I  should  have  spent  an 
uneasy  night,  thinking  of  the  heavy  bill  which  was  to  be 
presented  on  the  morrow.  We  escaped,  however,  for  seven 
francs  apiece,  three  of  which  were  undoubtedly  for  the 
honor  of  breathing  an  aristocratic  atmosphere. 

I  was  glad  when  we  were  Really  in  motion  on  the  swift 
Rhine,  the  next  morning,  and  nearing  the  chain  of  mountains 
that  arose  before  us.  We  passed  Godesberg  on  the  right, 
while  on  our  left  was  the  group  of  the  Seven  Mountains 
which  extend  back  from  the  Draclienfels  to  the  Wolkenberg, 
or  Castle  of  the  Clouds.  Here  we  begin  to  enter  the 
enchanted  land.  The  Rhine  sweeps  around  the  foot  of  the 
Drachenfels,  while  the  precipitous  rock  of  Rolandseck 

opposite,  crowned  with  the  castle  of  the  faithful  knight,  looks 

5 


98 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


down  upon  the  beautiful  island  of  ISfonnemverth,  the  white 
walls  of  the  convent  still  gleaming  through  the  trees,  as  they 
gleamed  when  the  warrior’s  weary  eyes  looked  upon  them 
for  the  last  time.  I  shall  never  forget  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  I  saw  this  scene  in  the  bright,  warm  sunlight,  the 
rough  crags  softened  in  the  haze  which  tilled  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  wild  mountains  springing  up  in  the  midst  of  vine¬ 
yards,  and  crowned  with  crumbling  towers,  haunted  wTith 
the  memories  of  a  thousand  years. 

After  passing  Andernacli,  we  saw  in  the  distance  the  high¬ 
lands  of  the  middle  Rhine,  which  rise  above  Coblentz, 
guarding  the  entrance  to  its  wild  scenery,  and  the  mountains 
of  the  Moselle.  They  parted  as  we  approached ;  from  the 
foot  shot  up  the  spires  of  Coblentz,  and  the  battlements  of 
Ehrenbreitstein  crowning  the  mountain  opposite,  grew 
larger  and  broader.  The  air  was  slightly  hazy,  and  the 

clouds  were  laboring  among  the  distant  mountains  to  raise  a 

\ 

storm  As  we  came  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Moselle  and 
under  the  shadow  of  the  mighty  fortress,  I  gazed  up  with 
awe  at  its  massive  walls.  Apart  from  its  magnitude  and 
almost  impregnable  situation  on  a  perpendicular  rock,  it  is 
filled  with  the  recollections  <^f  history  and  hallowed  by  the 
voice  of  poetry.  The  scene  went  past  like  a  panorama,  the 
bridge  of  boats  opened,  the  city  glided  behind  us  and  we 
entered  the  highlands  again. 

Above  Coblentz  almost  every  mountain  has  a  ruin  and  a 
legend.  One  feels  everywhere  the  spirit  of  the  Past,  and 
its  stirring  recollections  come  back  upon  the  mind  with  irre¬ 
sistible  force.  I  sat  upon  the  deck  the  whole  afternoon,  as 
mountains,  towns  and  castles  passed  by  on  either  side,  watch- 


LURLEI  ROCK  AND  ITS  ECHO. 


99 


mg  them  with  a  feeling  of  the  most  enthusiastic?  enjoyment. 
Every  place  was  familiar  to  me  in  memory,  and  they  seemed 
like  friends  I  had  long  communed  with  in  spirit  and  now  met 
face  to  face.  The  English  tourists,  with  whom  the  deck 
was  covered,  seemed  interested  too,  hut  in  a  different  man¬ 
ner.  With  Murray’s  Handbook  open  in  their  hands,  they 
sat  and  read  about  the  very  towns  and  towers  they  were 
passing,  scarcely  lifting  their  eyes  to  the  real  scenes,  except 
now  and  then,  to  observe  that  it  was  “  very  nice.” 

As  we  passed  Boppart,  I  sought  out  the  Inn  of  the 
“  Star,”  mentioned  in  “  Hyperion  there  was  a  maiden 
sitting  on  the  steps  who  might  have  been  Paul  Flemming’s 
fair  boat-woman.  The  clouds  which  had  here  gathered 
among  the  hills,  now  came  over  the  river,  and  the  rain  clear¬ 
ed  the  deck  of  its  crowd  of  admiring  tourists.  As  we  were 
approaching  Lurlei  Berg,  I  did  not  go  below,  and  so  enjoyed 
some  of  the  finest  scenery  on  the  Rhine  alone.  The  moun¬ 
tains  approach  each  other  at  this  point,  and  the  Lurlei  Rock 
rises  up  for  six  hundred  feet  from  the  water.  This  is  the 
haunt  of  the  water  nymph,  Lurlei,  or  Loreley,  whose  song 
charmed  the  ear  of  the  boatman  while  his  barque  was  dashed 
to  pieces  on  the  rocks  below.  *  It  is  also  celebrated  for  its 
remarkable  echo.  As  we  passed  between  the  rocks,  a  guard, 
who  has  a  little  house  built  on  the  road-side,  blew  a  flourish 
on  his  bugle,  which  was  instantly  answered  by  a  blast  from 
the  rocky  battlements  of  Lurlei.  The  German  students 
have  a  witty  trick  with  this  echo  :  they  call  out,  “  Who  is 
the  Burgomaster  of  Oberwesel?”  a  town  just  above.  The 
echo  answers  with  the  last  syllable  “Esel!”  which  is  the 
German  for  ass . 


100 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  sun  came  out  of  the  clouds  as  we  passed  Oberweseb 
with  its  tall  round  tower,  and  the  light  shining  through  the 
ruined  arches  of  Schonberg  castle,  made  broad  bars  of  light 
and  shade  in  the  still  misty  air.  A  rainbow  sprang  up  out 
of  the  Rhine,  and  lay  brightly  on  the  mountain  side,  color¬ 
ing  vineyard  and  crag,  in  the  most  singular  beauty,  while 
its  second  reflection  faintly  arched  like  a  glory  above  the 
high  summits.  In  the  bed  of  the  river  were  the  seven  coun¬ 
tesses  of  Schonberg,  turned  into  seven  rocks  for  their  cruelty 
and  hard-heartedness  towards  the  knights  whom  their  beauty 
had  made  captive.  In  front,  at  a  little  distance  was  the 
castle  of  Pfalz,  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  from  the 
heights  above  Oaub  frowned  the  crumbling  citadel  of  Guten- 
fels.  Imagine  all  this,  and  tell  me  if  it  is  not  a  picture  whose 
memory  should  last  a  life-time  ! 

We  came  at  last  to  Bingen,  the  southern  gate  of  the  High¬ 
lands.  Here  on  an  island  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  is 
the  old  Mouse  Tower  where  Bishop  Hatto  of  Mayence  was 
eaten  up  by  the  rats  for  his  wicked  deeds.  Passing  Riide- 
sheim  and  Geissenheim,  celebrated  for  their  wines,  at  sun¬ 
set,  we  watched  the  varied  shore  in  the  growing  darkness, 
till,  like  a  line  of  stars  across  the  water,  we  saw  before  us 
the  bridge  of  Mayence. 

The  next  morning  I  parted  from  my  friends,  who  were 
going  to  Heidelberg  by  way  of  Mannheim,  and  set  out  alone 
for  Frankfort.  The  cars  passed  through  Hochheim,  whose 
wines  are  celebrated  all  over  the  world ;  but  there  is  little 
to  interest  the  traveller  until  he  arrives  at  Frankfort,  whose 
spires  are  seen  rising  from  the  groves  of  trees  as  he 
approaches.  I  left  the  cars  unchallenged  for  my  passport, 


FRANKFORT-ON  THE-MAIN. 


101 


greatly  to  my  surprise,  as  it  had  cost  me  a  long  walk  and 
five  shillings  in  London,  to  get  the  signature  of  the  Frank¬ 
fort  Consul.  I  learned  afterwards  that  it  was  not  at  all 
necessary.  Before  leaving  America,  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis  had 
kindly  given  me  a  letter  to  his  brother,  Richard  S.  Willis, 
who  is  now  cultivating  a  naturally  fine  taste  for  music  in 
Frankfort,  and  my  first  care  was  to  find  the  American  Con¬ 
sul,  in  order  to  learn  his  residence.  I  discovered  at  last 
from  a  gentleman  who  spoke  a  little  French,  that  the  Con¬ 
sul’s  office  was  in  the  street  Bellevue ,  which  street  I  not  only 
looked  for  through  the  city,  but  crossed  over  the  bridge  to 
the  suburb  of  Sachsenhausen,  and  traversed  its  narrow,  dir¬ 
ty  alleys  three  several  times,  but  in  vain.  I  was  about  giv¬ 
ing  up  the  search,  when  I  stumbled  upon  the  office  accidental¬ 
ly.  The  name  of  the  street  had  been  given  to  me  in  French, 
and  very  naturally  it  was  not  to  be  found.  Mr.  Willis 
received  me  very  kindly,  and  introduced  me  to  the  amiable 
German  family  with  whom  he  resides. 

After  spending  a  delightful  evening  with  my  newly -found 
friends,  I  left  the  next  morning  in  the  omnibus  for  Heidel¬ 
berg.  Four  hours’  driving  over  the  monotonous  plain 
brought  me  to  Darmstadt.  The  city  wore  a  gay  look,  left 
by  the  recent  fetes.  The  monument  of  the  old  Duke  Lud¬ 
wig  had  just  been  erected  in  the  centre  of  the  great  square, 
and  the  festival  attendant  upon  the  unveiling  of  it,  which 
lasted  three  days,  had  just  closed.  The  city  was  hung  with 
garlands,  and  the  square  filled  with  the  pavilions  of  the 
royal  family  and  the  musicians,  of  whom  there  were  a  thou¬ 
sand  present,  while  every  where  were  seen  red  and  white 
flags — the  colors  of  Darmstadt.  We  met  wagons  decorated 


102 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


with  garlands,  full  of  peasant  girls  in  the  odd  dress  which 
they  have  worn  for  three  hundred  years. 

After  leaving  Darmstadt  we  entered  upon  the  Bergstrasse, 
or  Mountain-way,  leading  along  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
chain  which  extends  all  the  way  to  Heidelberg  on  the  left, 

while  on  the  right  stretches  far  away  the  Rhine-plain,  across 

% 

wdiich  we  saw  the  dim  outline  of  the  Donnersberg,  in 
France.  The  hills  are  crowned  with  castles  and  their  sides 
loaded  with  vines  ;  along  the  road  the  rich  green  foliage  of 
the  walnut  trees  arched  and  nearly  met  above  us.  The  sun 
shone  warm  and  bright,  and  every  body  appeared  busy  and 
contented  and  happy.  All  whom  we  met  had  smiling  coun¬ 
tenances.  In  some  places  we  saw  whole  families  sitting 
under  the  trees  shelling  the  nuts  they  had  beaten  down, 
while  others  were  returning  from  the  vineyards,  laden  with 
baskets  of  purple  and  white  grapes.  The  scene  realized  all 
I  had  read  of  the  happiness  of  the  German  peasantry,  and 
the  pastoral  beauty  of  the  German  plains.  With  the  pas¬ 
sengers  in  the  omnibus  I  could  hold  little  conversation. 
One,  who  knew  about  as  much  French  as  I  did,  asked  me 
where  I  came  from,  and  I  shall  not  forget  the  expression  of 
incredulity,  as  I  mentioned  America.  “  Why,”  said  he, 
“  you  are  white — the  Americans  are  all  black  !” 

We  passed  the  ruined  castles  of  Auerbach  and  Starken- 
burg,  and  Burg  Windeck,  formerly  one  of  the  royal  residences 
of  Charlemagne,  and  finally  came  to  the  Heiligenberg  or 
Holy  Mountain,  guarding  the  entrance  to  the  valley  of  the 
Neckar.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  the  ponderous  vehicle 
rounded  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  Heidelberg — the 
brave,  romantic,  beautiful  old  electoral  city — lay  spread  out 


HEIDELBERG  AT  SUNSET. 


103 


before  me  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  Far  above  it 
rose  the  wooaed  Raiserstuhl,  midway  down  whose  side  hung 
the  massive  bastions,  terraces  and  roofless  halls  of  the 
famous  Castle.  Heavy  masses  of  ivy  hung  from  its  arches, 
and  overran  the  quaint  sculpture  ot  its  walls,  while  the  foli¬ 
age  of  its  gardens  was  visible  behind,  deep  in  the  shadow 
of  the  mountain.  A  faint  yellow  glow  trembled  over  the 
pines  and  birches  on  the  top  of  the  Kaiserstuhl,  and  kept 
the  clear  blue  on  the  distant  hills  up  the  Neckar.  Down 
the  steep  paths  of  the  Holy  Mountain,  on  our  left,  came  the 
peasant-girls,  with  baskets  on  their  heads,  laden  with  the 
purple  clusters  of  the  Muscatel,  and  talking  to  each  other 
gaily  over  garden  walls.  Careless  students,  pipe  in  hand, 
sauntered  along  the  river  bank,  listening  to  the  sweet 
evening  chimes,  rung  first  in  the  belfries  of  the  town,  and 
taken  up  like  an  echo,  from  village  to  village  among  the 
hills. 

Looking  forward  to  Heidelberg  as  a  place  for  rest  and 
quiet  study,  there  was  something  peculiarly  grateful  and 

tranquillizing  in  the  scene.  To  my  eyes  the  scenery  pre- 

• 

sented  a  mingling  of  the  wild  with  the  cultivated — of  the 
pastoral  with  the  grand — a  combination  so  inspiring  that  I 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  my  enthusiasm  within  proper 
bounds.  From  the  river-bank,  above  the  bridge,  cannon  were 
firing  a  closing  salute  for  the  Grand  Duke’s  birth-day,  the 
sound  crashing  from  hill  to  hill,  far  away  into  the  Oden* 
wald.  The  German  passengers  in  the  omnibus  were  highly 
gratified  by  my  delight,  for  they  were  proud  of  Heidelberg. 
By  good  luck,  my  friends,  who  had  arrived  the  day  before, 


104 


VIEWS  A -FOOT. 


happened  to  be  passing  up  the  main  street,  when  the  vehicle 
stopped  and  took  me  at  once  to  their  temporary  quarters  at 
the  Badischer  Hof. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  MONTH  AT  HEIDELBERG. 

Rooms  in  Heidelberg — The  Landlady — View  from  our  Window — The  Yalley  of  the 
Neckar — Heidelberg  Castle — The  Towers — The  Great  Tun — The  Wolfsbrunnen— 
An  Afternoon  Party — Ascent  of  the  Heiligenberg — The  Pastor  of  Zeigelhausen— 
The  University  Library — A  Wedding — Conscripts — German  Cookery  and  Cus¬ 
toms — The  Melibochus — The  Sea  of  Rocks — The  Giant's  Column — Return. 

Heidelberg,  September  30,  1844. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  here,  by  the  help  of  a  valet  de 
place ,  who  spoke  a  few  words  of  English,  we  obtained  three 
rooms  in  a  large  house  overhanging  the  Neckar.  We  pay 
for  them,  with  attendance,  thirty  florins — about  twelve  dol¬ 
lars — a  month,  and  Frau  Dr.  Grosch,  our  polite  and  talkative 
landlady,  gives  us  a  student’s  breakfast — coffee  and  biscuit 
— for  about  seven  cents  apiece.  We  are  often  much  amused 
to  hear  her  endeavors  to  make  us  understand.  As  if  to  con¬ 
vey  her  meaning  better,  she  raises  both  thumbs  and  fore¬ 
fingers  to  her  mouth  and  pulls  out  the  words  like  a  long 
string ;  while  her  tongue  goes  so  fast  that  it  keeps  my  mind 
always  on  a  painful  stretch  to  comprehend  an  expression 

here  and  there.  Dr.  S - ,  from  whom  we  take  lessons  in 

5* 


IOC 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


German,  has  kindly  consented  to  our  dining  with  his  family 
for  the  sake  of  practice  in  speaking.  The  language  is  fast 
growing  familiar,  since  women  are  the  principal  teachers. 

Opposite  to  my  window  rises  the  Heiligenberg,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Neckar.  The  lower  part  of  it  is  rich  with 
vineyards,  and  many  cottages  are  embosomed  in  shrubbery 
among  them.  Sometimes  we  see  groups  of  maidens  standing 
under  the  grape  arbors,  and  every  morning  the  peasant 
women  go  toiling  up  the  steep  paths  with  baskets  on  their 
heads,  to  labor  among  the  vines.  On  the  Neckar  below  us, 
the  fishermen  glide  about  in  their  boats,  sink  their  square 
nets  fastened  to  long  poles,  and  haul  them  up  with  the  glit¬ 
tering  fish,  of  which  the  stream  is  full.  I  often  lean  out  of 
the  window  late  at  night,  when  the  mountains  above  are 
wrapped  in  dusky  obscurity,  and  listen  to  the  low,  musical 
ripple  of  the  river.  'It  tells  to  my  excited  fancy  a  knightly 
legend  of  the  old  German  time.  Then  comes  the  bell,  rung 
for  closing  the  inns,  breaking  the  spell  with  its  deep  clang, 
which  vibrates  far  away  on  the  night  air,  and  wakes  all  the 
echoes  of  the  Odenwald.  I  then  shut  the  window,  turn 
into  the  narrow  box  which  the  Germans  call  a  bed,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  am  wandering  in  America.  Half  way  up  the 
Heiligenberg  runs  a  beautiful  walk,  dividing  the  vineyards 
from  the  forest  above-  This  is  called  the  Philosopher’s 
Way,  because  it  was  the  favorite  ramble  of  the  old  Profes¬ 
sors  of  the  University.  It  can  be  reached  by  a  toilsome, 
winding  path  among  the  vines,  called  the  Snake-way,  and 
when  one  has  ascended  to  it  he  is  well  rewarded  by  the 
lovely  view.  In  the  evening,  when  the  sun  is  behind  the 
mountain,  it  is  delightful  to  sit  on  the  stone  steps  and  watch 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  XECKAR. 


107 


the  golden  light  creeping  up  tlie  side  of  tlie  Kaisers  tuhl. 
until  at  last  twilight  begins  to  darken  in  the  valley  and  a 
mantle  of  mist  gathers  above  the  river. 

The  valley  of  the  Neckar  is  narrow,  and  only  the  little 
slopes  which  here  and  there  lie  between  the  feet  of  its 
wooded  mountains  are  capable  of  cultivation.  Higher  up, 
there  are  glens  and  meadows  of  luxuriant  grass,,  to  which 
the  peasants  drive  their  cattle ;  further  still,  it  is  barren  and 
rocky,  and  upon  the  summits  rests  a  solitude  as  complete  as 
upon  the  unsettled  prairies  of  the  West.  An  hour’s  walk 
takes  one  from  the  busy  streets  of  the  little  city  to  this 
beautiful  and  lonely  region,  and  the  stranger  may  explore 
the  paths  he  finds  leading  far  away  among  the  hills,  for 
weeks  together.  The  people  of  Heidelberg  are  rich  in 
places  of  pleasure  and  amusement.  From  the  Carl  Platz, 
an  open  square  at  the  upper  end  of  the  city,  two  paths  lead 
directly  up  to  the  castle.  By  the  first  walk  we  ascend  a  flight 
of  steps  to  the  western  gate,  passing  through  which,  we 
enter  a  delightful  garden,  between  the  outer  walls  of  the 
Castle,  and  the  huge  moat  which  surrounds  it.  Great  linden, 
oak  and  beech  trees  shadow  the  walks,  and  in  secluded 
nooks,  little  mountain  streams  spring  from  the  side  of  the 
wall  into  stone  basins.  There  is  a  tower  over  the  moat  on  the 
south  side,  next  the  mountain,  where  the  portcullis  still  hangs 
with  its  sharp  teeth  as  it  was  last  drawn  up ;  on  each  side 
two  grim  knights  guard  the  entrance.  In  one  of  the  wood¬ 
ed  walks  is  an  old  tree  brought  from  America  in  the  year 
1618.  It  is  an  arhor  vitce,  uncommonly  tall  and  slender  for 
one  of  this  species  ;  yet  it  does  not  seem  to  thrive  well  in  a 
foreign  soil.  In  the  curve  of  the  mountain  is  a  handsome 


108 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


pavilion,  surrounded  with  beds  of  flowers  and  fountains; 
here  all  classes  meet  together  in  the  afternoon  to  take  re¬ 
freshment  in  the  shade,  while  frequently  a  fine  band  of 
music  gives  them  their  invariable  recreation.  The  Germans 
enjoy  life  under  all  circumstances,  and  are  a  much  happier 
people  than  we,  who  have  far  greater  means  of  being  so. 

*  At  the  end  of  the  terrace  built  for  the  Princess  Elizabeth 
of  England,  is  one  of  the  round  towers  which  was  split  in 
twain  by  the  French.  Half  has  fallen  entirely  away,  and 
the  other  semicircular  shell  which  joins  the  terrace  and  part 
of  the  Castle  buildings,  clings  firmly  together,  although  part 
of  its  foundation  is  gone,  so  that  its  outer  ends  actually  hang 
in  the  air.  Some  idea  of  the  strength  of  the  castle  may  be 
obtained  when  I  state  that  the  walls  of  this  tower  are  twen¬ 
ty-two  feet  thick,  and  that  a  staircase  has  been  made  through 
them  to  the  top,  where  one  can  sit  under  the  lindens  growing 
upon  it,  or  look  down  from  the  end  on  the  city  below,  with 
the  pleasant  consciousness  that  the  great  mass  upon  which 
he  stands  is  only  prevented  from  crashing  down  with  him  by 
the  solidity  of  its  masonry.  On  one  side,  joining  the  gar¬ 
den,  the  statue  of  the  Archduke  Louis,  in  his  breastplate 
and  flowing  beard,  looks  out  from  among  the  ivy. 

There  is  little  to  be  seen  about  the  Castle,  except  the  walls 
themselves.  The  guide  conducted  us  through  passages,  in 
which  were  heaped  many  of  the  enormous  cannon  balls  re¬ 
ceived  in  sieges,  to  some  chambers  in  the  foundation.  This 
was  the  oldest  part  of  the  Castle,  built  in  the  thirteenth  cen¬ 
tury.  We  also  visited  the  chapel,  which  is  in  a  tolerable 
state  of  preservation.  A  kind  of  narrow  bridge  crosses  it, 
over  which  we  walked,  looking  down  on  the  empty  pulpit 


THE  WOLFSBRUNNEN. 


109 


and  deserted  shrines.  We  then  went  into  the  cellar  to  see 
the  celebrated  Tun.  In  a  large  vault  are  kept  several 
enormous  hogsheads,  one  of  which  is  three  hundred  years 
old,  but  they  are  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  tun,  which 
itself  fills  a  whole  vault.  It  is  as  high  as  a  common  two- 
story  house  ;  on  the  top  is  a  platform  upon  which  the  people 
used  to  dance  after  it  was  filled.  It  will  contain  800  barrels 
of  wine,  but  has  been  empty  for  fifty  years. 

Then  there  is  the  Wolfsbrunnen,  which  one  reaches  by  a 
beautiful  walk  up  the  bank  of  the  Neckar,  to  a  quiet  dell  in 
the  side  of  the  mountain.  Here  a  path  wanders  off  by 
rustic  mills,  always  in  motion,  and  orchards  laden  with  ripen¬ 
ing  fruit,  to  the  commencement  of  the  forest,  where  a  quaint 
stone  fountain  stands,  commemorating  the  abode  of  a  sorcer¬ 
ess  of  the  olden  time,  who  was  torn  in  pieces  by  a  wolf. 
There  is  a  handsome  rustic  inn  here,  where  every  Sunday 
afternoon  a  band  plays  in  the  portico,  while  hundreds  of 
people  are  scattered  around  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  trees, 
or  feeding  the  splendid  trout  in  the  basin  formed  by  the  little 
stream.  They  generally  return  to  the  city  by  a  path  along 
the  mountain  side,  to  the  eastern  terrace  of  the  castle,  where 
they  have  fine  views  of  the  great  Rhine  plain,  terminated  by 
the  Alsatian  hills,  stretching  along  the  western  horizon  like 
the  long  crested  swells  on  the  ocean.  We  can  even  see 
these  from  the  windows  of  our  room  on  the  bank  of  the 
Neckar  ;  and  I  often  look  with  interest  on  one  sharp  peak, 
for  on  its  side  stands  the  Castle  of  Trifels,  where  Coeur  de 
Lion  was  imprisoned  by  the  Duke  of  Austria. 

A  few  days  ago  a  party  was  formed  by  our  German  friends, 
and  we  spent  an  afternoon  at  the  Wolfsbrunnen.  Frau  Dr. 


110 


VIEWS  A -FOOT. 


S - ,  wlio  was  always  ready  for  any  social  undertaking, 

had  the  management  of  the  excursion,  and  directed  us  with 

the  skill  of  a  general.  Fraulein  Elise,  her  niece,  a  blooming 

maiden  of  sixteen,  and  Madame - ,  a  sprightly  little 

widow  from  Mannheim,  with  Dr.  S - ,  one  or  two  students, 

and  w^e  Americans,  were  her  subjects.  The  books,  the  cards, 

the  guitar  and  music  were  distributed  among  those  best  able 

# 

to  carry  them,  and  we  finally  started,  without  any  particular 
order  of  march.  German  etiquette  forbids  a  lady  to  take  the 
arm  of  a  male  friend,  unless  she  is  betrothed  to  him  :  talking 
is  allowed,  fortunately. 

As  we  climbed  to  the  terraces  of  the  castle,  we  could  see 
the  thread  of  the  Rhine,  in  the  distance,  sparkling  through 
the  haze.  The  light  air  which  came  down  the  Neckar  was 
fragrant  with  pine  and  the  first  falling  leaves  of  summer 
trees.  The  vineyards  below  us  were  beginning  to  look  crisp 
and  brown,  but  hanging  from  stake  to  stake  the  vines  were 
bent  down  by  blue  clusters,  with  the  bloom  still  upon  them. 
Troops  of  light-hearted  students,  children,  blue-eyed  and 
blond-haired,  and  contented  citizens,  were  taking  the  same 
path,  and  like  them,  we  forgot  every  thing  but  the  sense  of 
present  happiness.  We  had  a  table  spread  upon  the  upper 
balcony  of  the  inn,  after  our  scattered  forces  returned  from 
many  a  long  ramble  up  the  glen  and  out  on  the  meadows. 

Frau  Dr.  S - ordered  a  repast,  and  the  “  landlady’s 

daughter  ” — not  the  sweet  maid  of  Uhland’s  song,  but  a 
stout-armed  and  stout-waist ed  damsel — brought  us  a  jar  of 
curds,  dripping  with  the  cool  water  in  which  it  had  stood, 
A  loaf  of  brown  bread  next  made  its  appearance,  followed 
by  a  stone  jug  of  foaming  beer,  and  two  or  thr^e  dishes  of 


CLIMBING  THE  HEILIGENBERG. 


Ill 


those  prune-tarts  peculiar  to  Germany  completed  the  fare. 
On  the  porch  below  us,  two  or  three  musicians  played 
waltzes,  and  the  tables  around  the  fountain  were  filled  with 
students,  laughing,  clinking  their  beer-glasses,  or  trolling 
some  burschen  chorus.  Our  own  table  did  not  lack  the 
heartiest  spirit  of  mirth  ;  this  could  not  be  otherwise  so  long 

as  Frau  Dr.  S - sat  at  the  head  of  it.  The  students  were 

gay  and  full  of  life,  and  even  Dr.  S - ,  the  most  correct 

and  studious  of  the  party,  was  so  far  influenced  by  the  spirit 
of  the  time,  that  he  sang  the  “  King  of  Thule  ”  with  more 
warmth  than  I  had  thought  possible. 

We  ascended  the  Heiligenberg  a  few  days  ago.  There  is  a 
path  which  leads  through  the  forest,  but  we  took  the  shortest 
way,  directly  up  the  side,  although  it  was  at  an  angle  of 
nearly  fifty  degrees.  It  was  hard  work  enough,  scrambling 
through  the  thick  broom  and  heather,  and  over  stumps  and 
stones.  In  one  of  the  stone-heaps  I  dislodged  a  large 
orange-colored  salamander,  seven  or  eight  inches  long. 
They  are  sometimes  found  on  these  mountains,  as  well  as  a 
very  large  kind  of  lizard,  which  the  Germans  say  is  per¬ 
fectly  harmless,  and  if  one  whistles  or  plays  a  pipe,  will 
come  and  play  around  him.  The  view  from  the  top  is  simi¬ 
lar  to  that  from  the  Kaiserstuhl  opposite,  but  on  a  smaller 
scale.  Nestled  at  the  base  below  us,  was  the  little  village 
of  Handscliuhheim,  one  of  the  oldest  in  this  part  of  Germa¬ 
ny.  The  castle  of  its  former  lords  has  nearly  all  fallen 
down,  but  the  massive  solidity  of  the  walls  which  yet  stand, 
proves  its  antiqnity.  A  few  years  ago,  a  part  of  the  outer 
wall  which  was  remarked  to  have  a  hollow  sound  was  taken 
down,  when  a  skeleton,  clad  in  a  suit  of  the  old  Germ  an 


112 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


armor,  fell  from  a  deep  niche  built  therein.  We  followed  a 
road  through  the  woods  to  the  peak  on  which  stand  the 
ruins  of  St.  Michael’s  chapel,  which  was  built  in  the  tenth 
century  and  inhabited  for  a  long  time  by  a  sect  of  white 
monks.  It  had  a  wild  and  romantic  look,  and  I  sat  on  a 
rock  and  sketched  at  it,  until  night  came  on,  when  we  got 
down  the  mountain  the  best  way  w^e  could. 

The  village  of  Ziegelhausen,  up  the  Neckar,  with  its  grim 
old  convent,  gardens  and  cascades,  and  the  delightful  arbors 
of  vine,  reaching  down  to  the  very  brink  of  the  river,  is 
another  favorite  place  of  resort.  The  pastor  of  its  church, 
who  is  familiar  with  our  German  friends,  frequently  joins  us 
in  an  afternoon  walk,  followed  by  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  garden 
of  the  inn,  or  a  share  in  the  games  of  the  village  children. 
The  pastor  is  a  most  jovial,  genial  character  ;  he  sings  very 
finely — indeed  he  is  brother  to  the  primo  tenore  in  the  Opera 
at  Brunswick — and  his  wit  is  inexhaustible.  His  religion  is 
as  genuine  as  his  cheerfulness;  it  is  no  gloomy  asceticism, 
which  looks  on  mirth  as  sin,  but  a  joyous,  affectionate,  and 
abounding  spirit,  bright  as  God’s  sunshine,  and  as  uncon¬ 
scious  of  its  blessing.  How  happily  pass  our  September 
afternoons,  warmed  by  such  true  social  feeling,  and  re¬ 
freshed  by  all  the  kindly  influences  of  nature  !  If  a  return 
like  this  to  the  simple  joys  of  the  child’s  heart  be  but 
obtained  by  the  mature  age  of  a  nation,  I  could  almost  wish 
our  own  country  might  grow  old  speedily.  The  restless 
energy  of  Youth  is  still  upon  us.  The  nation  overflows 
with  active  impulses,  which  fear  nothing,  and  yield  to 
nothing.  We  have  not  yet  felt  the  need  of  Rest. 

We  lately  visited  the  great  University  Library,  lou 


A  WEDDING - CONSCRIPTS. 


113 


walk  through  hall  after  hall,  fille  1  with  books  of  all  kinds, 
from  the  monkish  manuscript  of  the  middle  ages,  to  the  most 
elegant  print  of  the  present  day.  There  is  something  to  me 
more  impressive  in  a  library  like  this  than  a  solemn  Cathedral. 
I  think  involuntarily  of  the  hundreds  of  mighty  spirits  who 
speak  from  these  three  hundred  thousand  volumes — of  the 
toils  and  privations  with  which  Genius  has  ever  struggled, 
and  of  his  glorious  reward.  As  in  a  church,  one  feels  as  it 
were  the  presence  of  God  ;  not  because  the  place  has  been 
hallowed  by  His  worship,  but  because  all  around  stand  the 
inspirations  of  His  spirit,  breathed  through  the  mind  of 
genius,  to  men. 

A  few  nights  ago  there  was  a  wedding  of  peasants  across 
the  river.  The  guests  assembled  at  the  house  where  it  was 
given,  by  torchlight.  The  night  was  quite  dark,  and  the 
bright  red  torches  glowed  on  the  surface  of  the  Neckar,  as 
the  two  couriers,  galloped  along  the  banks  to  the  bride¬ 
groom’s  house.  Here,  after  much  shouting  and  confusion, 

the  procession  was  arranged,  the  two  riders  started  back 

• 

again  with  their  torches,  and  the  wagons  containing  the 
guests  followed  after,  with  their  flickering  lights  glancing  on 
the  water,  until  they  disappeared  around  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  The  choosing  of  conscripts  also  took  place 
lately.  The  law  requires  one  person  out  of  every  hundred 
to  become  a  soldier,  and  this,  in  th&  city  of  Heidelberg, 
amounts  to  nearly  150  recruits.  It  was  a  sad  spectacle. 
The  young  men,  or  rather  boys,  who  were  chosen,  went 
about  the  city  with  cockades  fastened  on  their  hats,  shouting 
and  singing,  many  of  them  quite  intoxicated.  Many  were 
rough,  ignorant  peasants,  to  whom  nearly  any  kind  of  life 


114 


VIEW’S  A-FOOT. 

would  be  agreeable  ;  but  Jiere  were  some  whose  counte* 
nances  spoke  otherwise,  and  I  thought  involuntarily  that 
their  drunken  gaiety  was  only  affected  to  conceal  their 
repugnance  to  the  lot  which  had  fallen  upon  them. 

We  are  gradually  becoming  accustomed  to  the  German 
style  of  living,  which  is  very  different  from  our  own.  Their 
cookery  is  new  to  us,  but  is  nevertheless  palatable.  We 
have  every  day  a  different  kind  of  soup,  so  that  I  have  sup¬ 
posed  they  keep  a  regular  list  of  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five,  one  for  every  day  in  the  year !  Then  we  have  potato 
salad,  veal  flavored  with  orange  peel,  barley  pudding,  boiled 
artichokes,  and  rye  bread,  in  loaves  a  yard  long.  Neverthe¬ 
less,  we  thrive  on  such  diet,  and  I  have  rarely  enjoyed  more 
sound  and  refreshing  sleep  than  in  the  narrow  and  coflin-like 
beds,  uncomfortable  as  they  seem.  Many  of  the  German 
customs  are  amusing.  We  never  see  oxen  working  here, 
but  always  cows,  sometimes  a  single  one  in  a  cart,  and  some¬ 
times  two  fastened  together  by  a  yoke  across  their  horns. 
The  women  labor  constantly  in  the  fields,  and  from  our  win¬ 
dow  we  can  hear  the  nut-brown  maidens  singing  their  cheer¬ 
ful  songs  among  the  vineyards  on  the  mountain  side.  Their 
costume,  too,  is  odd  enough.  Below  the  tight-fitting  vest 
they  wear  such  a  number  of  short  skirts,  one  above  another, 
that  it  reminds  one  of  an  animated  hogshead,  with  a  head 
and  shoulders  starting  out  from  the  top.  I  have  heard  it 
gravely  asserted  that  the  wealth  of  a  German  damsel  may 
be  known  by  counting  the  number  of  her  kirtles.  An 
acquaintance  of  mine  remarked,  that  it  would  be  an  excel¬ 
lent  costume  for  falling  down  a  precipice. 

We  have  just  returned  from  a  second  visit  to  Frankfort, 


THE  SEA  OP  ROCKS. 


115 


where  the  great  annual  fair  filled  the  streets  with  noise  and 
bustle.  On  our  return,  we  stopped  at  the  village  of  Zwin- 
genberg,  which  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  Melibochus,  for  the 
purpose  of  visiting  some  of  the  s.ceneiy  of  the  Odenwald. 
Passing  the  night  at  the  inn  there,  we  slept  with  one  bed 
under  us  and  two  above,  and  started  early  in  the  morning  to 
climb  up  the  side  of  the  Melibochus.  After  a  long  walk 
through  the  forests,  which  were  beginning  to  change  their 
summer  foliage  for  a  brighter  garment,  we  reached  the  sum¬ 
mit  and  ascended  the  stone  tower  which  stands  upon  it. 
This  view  gives  one  a  better  idea  of  the  Odenwald,  than 
that  from  the  Kaiserstuhl  at  Heidelberg.  In  the  soft  autumn 
atmosphere  it  looked  even  more  beautiful.  After  an  hour 
in  that  heaven  of  uplifted  thought,  into  which  we  step  from 
the  mountain-top,  our  minds  went  with  the  path  downward 
to  the  earth,  and  we  descended  the  eastern  side  into  the  wild 
region  which  contains  the  Felsenmeer ,  or  Sea  of  Rocks. 

We  met  on  the  way  a  student  from  Fulda — a  fine  speci¬ 
men  of  that  free-spirited  class,  and  a  man  whose  smothered 
aspiration  was  betrayed  in  the  flashing  of  his  eye,  as  he 
spoke  of  the  present  painful  and  oppressed  condition  of 
Germany.  We  talked  so  busily  together  that  without  notic¬ 
ing  the  path,  which  had  been  bringing  us  on,  up  hill  and 
down,  through  forest  and  over  rock,  we  came  at  last  to  a 
halt  in  a  valley  among  the  mountains.  Making  inquiries 
there,  we  found  we  had  gone  wrong,  and  must  ascend  again 
by  a  different  path.  Near  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  in 
a  wild  pine  wood,  was  the  Felsenmeer — a  great  collection  of 
rocks  heaped  together  like  pebbles  on  the  sea  shore,  and 
worn  and  rounded  as  if  by  the  action  of  water.  So  much 


116 


VIEWS  A- FOOT. 


do  they  resemble  waves,  that  one  who  stands  at  the  bottom 
and  looks  up,  cannot  resist  the  idea,  that  they  will  flow 
down  upon  him.  It  must  have  been  a  mighty  tide  whose  re¬ 
ceding  waves  left  these  masses  piled  together.  The  same 
formation  continues  at  intervals,  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 
A  little  higher  up,  lies  a  massive  block  of  granite  called  the 
“  Giant’s  Column.”  It  is  thirty-two  feet  long  and  three  or 
four  feet  in  diameter,  and  still  bears  the  mark  of  the  chisel. 
When  or  by  whom  it  was  made  remains  a  mystery.  Some 
have  supposed  it  was  intended  to  be  erected  for  the  worship 
of  the  Sun,  by  the  wild  Teutonic  tribes  who  inhabited  this 
forest ;  it  is  more  probably  the  work  of  the  Romans.  A 
project  was  once  started,  to  erect  it  as  a  monument  on  the 
battle-field  of  Leipsic,  but  it  was  found  too  difficult  to  carry 
•  into  execution. 

% 

After  dining  at  the  little  village  of  Reichelsdorf  in  the 
valley  below,  where  the  merry  landlord  charged  my  friend 
two  kreutzers  less  than  myself  because  he  was  not  so  tall, 

we  visited  the  Castle  of  Schonberg,  and  joined  the  Berg- 

* 

strasse  agaim  We  returned  to  Heidelberg  on  foot  the  same 
evening,  but  long  before  we  arrived,  the  moon  shone  down 
on  us  over  the  mountains,  and  when  we  turned  around  the 
foot  of  the  Heiligenberg,  the  mist  descending  in  the  valley 
of  the  Neckar,  rested  like  a  light  cloud  on  the  church 
spires. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A  WALK  THROUGH  THE  ODENWALD. 

Bemoval  to  Frankfort — A  German  Parting— Twilight  on  the  Mountains — The  Inn  of 
Elsbach — A  Frosty  Morning — A  Village  Fair — The  Castle  of  Erbach — Historical 
Armor — An  Antiquarian  Theft — Curiosity  of  the  Peasants — Castle  of  the  Wild 
Huntsman — An  Old  Peasant — The  Emigrant  Family. 

Frankfort-on-the-Maine,  Oct.  25,  1844. 

I  am  now  comfortably  settled  for  the  winter  in  this  stately 
old  city,  having  emigrated  hither  from  Heidelberg  three 

weeks  ago.  My  friend  B - and  I,  through  the  assistance 

of  Mr.  Richard  Willis,  have  obtained  quarters  with  the 
amiable  family  with  whom  he  has  been  residing  for  two 
years  past.  We  find  that  the  cost  of  living  is  somewhat 
less  here  than  in  Heidelberg,  and  hope  to  see  more  of  the 
domestic  and  social  life  of  Germany.  My  cousin,  who 
desires  to  attend  the  winter  course  of  lectures  at  the  Uni¬ 
versity,  remains  at  the  latter  place. 

"  Having  forwarded  our  baggage  by  the  omnibus,  we  came 
hither  on  foot,  through  the  heart  of  the  Odenwald,  a  region 

full  of  interest,  yet  little  visited  by  travellers.  Dr.  S - 

and  his  family  walked  with  us  three  or  four  miles  of  the 


118 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


way,  and  on  a  hill  above  Ziegelhausen,  with  a  splendid  view 
behind  us,  through  the  mountain-door  out  of  which  the 
Neckar  enters  on  the  Rhine-plain,  we  parted.  This  was  a 
first,  and  I  must  confess,  a  somewhat  embarrassing  experi¬ 
ence  of  German  leave-taking.  After  bidding  adieu  three  or 
four  times,  we  started  to  go  up  the  mountain  and  they  down 
it,  but  at  every  second  step  we  had  to  turn  around  to 
acknowledge  the  waving  of  hands  and  handkerchiefs  which 
continued  as  long  as  we  were  in  sight.  We  descended  on 
the  other  side  into  a  wild  and  romantic  valley,  whose  mea¬ 
dows  were  of  the  brightest  green ;  a  little  brook  which 
wound  through  them,  put  now  and  then  its  silvery  shoulder 
to  the  wheel  of  a  rustic  mill.  By  the  road-side  two  or  three 
wild-looking  gipsies  sat  around  a  fire,  with  some  goats  feed¬ 
ing  near  them. 

Passing  through  this  valley  and  the  little  village  of  Scho- 
nau,  we  commenced  ascending  one  of  the  loftiest  ranges  of 
the  Odenwald.  The  side  of  the  mountain  was  covered  with 
a  thick  pine  forest.  There  was  no  wind  to  wake  its  solemn 
anthem  ;  all  was  calm  and  majestic,  and  even  awful.  The 
trees  rose  all  around  like  the  pillars  of  a  vast  Cathedral, 
whose  long  arched  aisles  vanished  far  below  in  the  deepen¬ 
ing  gloom.  We  went  on  and  up  and  ever  higher ;  the  beech 
and  dwarf  oak  took  the  place  of  the  pine,  and  at  last  we 
arrived  at  a  cleared  summit  whose  long  brown  grass  waved 
desolately  in  the  dim  light  of  evening.  A  faint  glow  still 
lingered  over  the  forest  hills,  but  down  in  the  valley  the 
dusky  shades  hid  every  vestige  of  life,  though  its  sounds 
came  up  softened  through  the  long  space.  When  we  reach¬ 
ed  the  top,  a  bright  planet  stood  like  a  diamond  over  the 


8CBNERY  OF  THE  ODENWALD. 


119 


brow  of  the  eastern  hill,  and  the  sound  of  a  twilight  bell 
came  up  clearly  and  sonorously  on  the  cool,  damp  air.  The 
white  veil  of  mist  slowly  descended  the  mountain  side,  but 
the  peaks  rose  above  it  like  the  wrecks  of  a  world  floating 
in  space.  We  made  our  way  in  the  dusk  down  the  long 
path,  to  the  rude  little  dorf  of  Elsbach.  I  asked  at  the  first 
inn  for  lodging,  and  we  were  ushered  into  a  great  room, 
in  which  a  number  of  girls  who  had  been  at  work  in  the 
fields,  were  assembled.  They  were  all  dressed  in  cloth 
jackets  and  short  gowns,  and  some  had  their  hair  streaming 
down  their  backs.  The  landlord’s  daughter,  however,  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  whose  modest,  delicate  features  contrasted 
greatly  with  the  coarse  faces  of  the  others.  I  thought  of 
Uhland’s  beautiful  little  poem  of  “  The  Landlady’s  Daugh¬ 
ter,”  as  I  looked  on  her.  In  the  room  hung  two  or  three 
pair  of  antlers,  and  they  told  us  deer  were  still  plenty  in 

the  forests. 

When  we  left  the  village  the  next  morning,  we  again 
commenced  ascending.  Over  the  whole  valley  and  half  way 
up  the  mountain,  lay  a  thick  white  frost,  almost  like  snow, 
which,  contrasted  with  the  green  trees  and  bushes  scattered 
over  the  meadows,  produced  the  most  singular  effect.  We 
plucked  blackberries  ready  iced  from  the  bushes  by  the 
road-side,  and  went  on  in  the  cold,  for  the  sun  shone  only  on 
the  top  of  the  opposite  mountain,  into  another  valley  down 
which  rushed  the  rapid  Ulver.  At  a  little  village  which 
bears  the  beautiful  name  of  Anteschinmattenwag ,  we  took 
a  foot-path  directly  over  a  steep  mountain  to  the  village  of 
Finkenbach.  Near  the  top  I  found  two  wild-looking  chil¬ 
dren,  cutting  grass  with  knives,  both  of  whom  I  prevailed 


120 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


upon  for  a  few  kreutzers  to  stand  and  let  me  sketch  them. 
From  the  summit  the  view  on  the  other  side  was  very  strik¬ 
ing.  The  hills  were  covered  with  wood,  and  not  a  dwelling 
in  sight.  It  reminded  me  of  our  forest  scenery  at  home, 
except  that  the  trees  were  much  smaller. 

At  length,  after  scaling  another  mountain,  we  reached  a 
wide,  elevated  plain,  in  the  middle  of  which  stood  the  old 
dorf  of  Beerfelden.  It  was  then  crowded  with  people,  on 
account  of  a  great  cattle-fair  being  held  there.  All  the 
farmers  of  the  neighborhood  were  assembled,  clad  in  the 
ancient  country  costume — broad  cocked  hats  and  blue  frocks. 
An  orchard  near  the  town  was  filled  with  cattle  and  horses, 
and  near  by,  in  the  shade,  a  number  of  pedlars  had  arranged 
their  wares.  The  cheerful  looking  country  people  touched 
their  hat3  to  us  as  we  passed.  This  custom  of  greeting 
travellers,  universal  in  Germany,  is  very  expressive  of  their 
social,  friendly  manners.  Among  the  mountains,  we  fre¬ 
quently  met  groups  of  children  who  sang  together  their 
simple  ballads  as  we  passed  by. 

From  Beerfelden  we  passed  down  the  valley  of  the  Mim- 
ling  to  Erbach,  the  principal  city  in  the  Odenwald,  wliero 
we  halted  a  short  time  to  view  the  Rittersaal  in  the  old 
family  castle  of  the  Counts  of  Erbach.  An  officer,  who 
stood  at  the  gates,  conducted  us  to  the  door,  where  we  were 
received  by  a  noble-looking,  gray-headed  steward.  He 
took  us  into  the  Rittersaal  at  once,  which  was  like  stepping 
back  three  hundred  years.  The  stained  windows  of  the 
lofty  Gothic  hall  let  in  a  subdued  light,  which  fell  on  the 
forms  of  kings  and  knights,  clad  in  the  armor  they  wore 
during  life.  On  the  left  as  we  entered,  were  mail-covered 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ERBACH. 


121 


figures  of  John  and  Cosmo  de  Medici ;  further  on  stood  the 
Emperor  Maximilian,  and  by  his  side  the  celebrated  dwarf 
who  was  served  up  in  a  pie  at  one  of  the  imperial  feasts. 
His  armor  was  most  delicate  and  beautiful,  but  small  as  it 
was,  Tom  Thumb  would  have  room  to  spare  in  it.  Gustavus 
Adolphus  and  Wallenstein  looked  down  from  the  neighboring 
pedestals,  while  at  the  other  end  stood  Goetz  von  Berlichin- 
gen  and  Albert  of  Brunswick.  The  steward  told  me  that 
the  iron  hand  of  Goetz  was  in  possession  of  the  family,  but 
not  shown  to  strangers  ;  he  pointed  out,  however,  the  buckles 
on  the  armor,  by  which  it  was  fastened.  Adjoining  the  hall 
is  an  antique  chapel,  filled  with  rude  old  tombs,  and  contain¬ 
ing  the  sarcophagus  of  Count  Eginliard  of  Denmark,  who 
lived  about  the  tenth  century.  There  were  also  monkish 
garments  five  hundred  years  old  hanging  up  in  it. 

The  collection  of  antiquities  is  large  and  interesting ;  but 
it  is  said  that  the  old  Count  obtained  some  of  them  in  rather 
a  questionable  manner.  Among  other  incidents  they  relate 
that  when  in  Rome  he  visited  the  Pope,  taking  with  him  an 
old  servant  who  accompanied  him  in  all  his  travels,  and  was 
the  accomplice  in  most  of  his  antiquarian  thefts.  In  one  of 
the  outer  halls,  among  the  curiosities,  was  an  antique  shield 
of  great  value.  The  servant  was  left  in  this  hall  while  the 
Count  had  his  audience,  and  in  a  short  time  this  shield  was 
missed.  The  servant,  who  wore  a  long  cloak,  was  missed 
also  ;  orders  were  given  to  close  the  gates  and  search  every 
body,  but  it  was  too  late — the  thief  was  gone. 

Leaving  Erbach  we  found  out  the  direction  of  Snellert, 
the  castle  of  the  Wild  Huntsman,  and  took  a  road  that  led 
us  for  two  or  three  hours  along  the  top  of  a  mountain  ridge. 


122 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Through  the  openings  in  the  pine  and  larch  forests,  we  had 
glimpses  of  the  hills  of  Spessart,  beyond  the  Main.  When 
we  finally  left  the  by-road  we  had  chosen  it  was  quite  dark, 
and  we  missed  the  way  altogether  among  the  lanes  and 
meadows.  We  came  at  last  to  a  full#stop  at  the  house  of  a 
farmer,  ’who  guided  us  by  a  foot-path  over  the  fields  to  a 
small  village.  On  entering  the  only  inn,  kept  by  the  Burgo¬ 
master,  the  people,  on  finding  we  were  Americans,  regarded 
us  with  a  curiosity  quite  uncomfortable.  They  crowded 
around  the  door,  watching  every  motion,  and  gazed  in  through 
the  windows.  The  wild  huntsman  himself  could  scarcely  have 
made  a  greater  sensation.  The  news  of  our  arrival  seemed 
to  have  spread  very  fast,  for  the  next  morning  when  we 
stopped  at  a  prune  orchard  some  distance  from  the  village  to 
buy  some  fruit,  the  farmer  cried  out  from  a  tree,  “  they  are 
the  Americans  ;  give  them  as  many  as  they  want  for 
nothing  !” 

With  the  Burgomaster’s  little  son  for  a  guide,  we  went 
back  a  mile  or  two  of  our  route  to  Snellert.  which  we  had 
passed  the  night  before,  and  after  losing  ourselves  two  or 
three  times  in  the  woods,  arrived  at  last  at  the  top  of  the 
mountain,  where  the  ruins  of  the  castle  stand.  The  walls 
are  nearly  level  with  the  ground.  The  interest  of  a  visit 
rests  entirely  on  the  romantic  legend,  and  the  wild  view 
over  the  hills  around.  On  the  opposite  mountain  are  the 
ruins  of  Rodenstein,  to  which  the  wild  Huntsman  was  wont 
to  ride  at  midnight — where  he  now  rides  no  more.  The 
echoes  of  Rodenstein  are  no  longer  awakened  by  the  sound 
of  his  bugle,  and  the  hoofs  of  his  demon  steed  clanging  on 
the  battlements.  But  the  hills  around  are  wild  enough,  and 


THE  EMIGRANT  FAMILY. 


123 


the  roar  of  the  pine  forests  deep  enough  to  have  inspired  the 
simple  peasants  with  the  romantic  tradition. 

Stopping  for  dinner  at  the  town  of  Rheinheim,  we  met  an 
old  man,  who,  on  learning  we  were  Americans,  walked  with 

*  a  * 

ns  as  far  as  the  next  village.  He  had  a  daughter  in  America, 
and  was  highly  gratified  to  meet  any  one  from  the  country 
of  her  adoption.  He  made  me  promise  to  visit  her,  if  I 
ever  should  go  to  St.  Louis,  and  say  that  I  had  walked  with 
her  father  from  Rheinheim  to  Zwangenburg.  To  satisfy  his 
fears  lest  I  might  forget  it,  I  took  down  his  name  and  that 
of  his  daughter.  He  shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand  at 
parting,  and  was  evidently  made  happier  for  that  day. 

We  reached  Darmstadt  just  in  time  to  take  a  seat  in  the 
omnibus  for  Frankfort.  Among  the  passengers  were  a 
Bavarian  family,  on  their  way  to  Bremen,  whence  they 
intended  sailing  for  Texas.  I  endeavored  to  discourage 
the  man  from  choosing  such  a  country  for  his  home,  by 
telling  him  of  the  climate  and  the  Indians,  but  he  was  too 
full  of  hope  to  be  shaken  in  his  purpose.  I  would  have 
added  that  it  was  a  slave-land,  but  I  thought  on  our  own 
country’s  curse,  and  was  silent.  The  wife  was  not  so  san¬ 
guine  ;  she  seemed  to  mourn  in  secret  at  leaving  her  beauti¬ 
ful  fatherland.  It  was  saddening  to  think  how  lonely  they 
would  feel  in  that  far  home,  and  how  they  would  long,  with 
true  German  devotion,  to  look  again  on  the  green  vintage- 
hills  of  their  forsaken  country.  As  night  drew  on,  the  little 
girl  crept  over  to  her  father  for  his  accustomed  evening  kiss, 
and  then  sank  back  to  sleep  in  a  corner  of  the  wagon.  The 
boy,  in  the  artless  confidence  of  childhood,  laid  his  head  on 
my  breast,  weary  with  the  day’s  travel,  and  soon  slept  also. 


124 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


r 


Thus  we  drove  on  in  the  dark,  till  at  length  the  lights  of 
Frankfort  glimmered  on  the  breast  of  the  rapid  Main,  as  we 
passed  over  the  bridge,  and  when  we  stopped  near  the 
Cathedral,  I  delivered  up  my  little  charge,  and  sent  my 
sympathy  with  the  wanderers  on  their  lonely  way. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


RESIDENCE  IN  FRANKFORT. 

Frankfort  and  its  Associations — Our  Quarters — Mr.  Richard  S.  Willis — The  Market- 
Women — Inauguration  of  the  Statue  of  Goethe — The  Streets  of  Frankfort — The 
Main  Bridge — The  Golden  Cock — Weather — Baron  Rothschild — The  Promenades — 
Celebration  of  the  Vintage — The  Poet  Freiligrath. 

Frankfort,  December  4,  1844. 

This  is  a  genuine  old  German  city.  Founded  by  Charle¬ 
magne,  afterwards  a  rallying  point  of  the  Crusaders,  and  for 
a  long  time  the  capital  of  the  German  Empire,  it  has  no 
lack  of  interesting  historical  recollections,  and  notwithstand¬ 
ing  it  is  now  fast  becoming  modernized,  one  is  everywhere 
reminded  of  the  Past.  The  Cathedral,  old  as  the  days  of 
Peter  the  Hermit,  the  grotesque  street  of  the  Jews,  the 
many  quaint,  antiquated  dwellings  and  the  mouldering  watch- 
towers  on  the  hills  around,  give  it  a  more  interesting  charac¬ 
ter  than  any  German  city  I  have  yet  seen.  The  house  we 
dwell  in,  on  the  Markt  Platz,  is  more  than  two  hundred 
years  old  ;  directly  opposite  is  a  great  castellated  building, 
gloomy  with  the  weight  of  six  centuries,  and  a  few  steps  to 
the  left  brings  me  to  the  square  of  the  Romerberg,  where 


12  G 


VIFWS  A-FOOT. 


the  Emperors  were  crowned,  in  a  corner  of  which  is  a  curi¬ 
ously  ornamented  house,  formerly  the  residence  of  Luther. 
There  are  legends  innumerable  connected  with  all  these 
buildings,  and  even  yet  discoveries  of  secret  chambers  and 
staircases  are  frequently  made  in  old  houses.  When  you  add 
to  all  this,  the  German  love  of  ghost  stories,  and,  indeed, 
their  general  belief  in  spirits,  the  lover  of  romance  could  not 
desire  a  more  agreeable  residence. 

We  have  two  rooms  on  the  second  floor,  overlooking  the 

crowded  market,  and  commanding  the  top  of  the  Romerberg. 

As  in  all  old  German  houses,  there  are  no  carpets,  and  the 

furniture  is  of  the  simplest  and  plainest  character.  W e 

take  our  meals  with  the  family  of  Herr  S - ,  of  which, 

indeed,  we  now  form  a  part,  conforming  in  every  respect  to 

their  habits,  and  sharing  in  all  their  social  enjoyments.  The 

difficulties  of  the  language  are  at  last  overcome,  and  all  the 

0 

more  familiar  phrases  of  the  hearty  German  tongue  come 
as  naturally  to  my  lips  as  the  corresponding  English  ones. 
I  now  read  Hauff,  and  Uhland,  and  Schiller,  without  difficul¬ 
ty,  and  look  forward  to  a  winter  of  rich  enjoyment,  in  the 
study  of  the  great  German  authors.  I  pay  Herr  S — — , 
twenty -five  florins — about  ten  dollars — monthly,  for  all  the 
privileges  of  a  home,  and  thus,  in  spite  of  my  diminishing 
funds,  I  am  at  least  certain  of  knowing  Germany  and  the 
Germans,  before  being  obliged  to  return  home. 

Mr.  Willis,  whose  society  adds  another  pleasure  to  our 
sojourn  here,  has  been  in  Frankfort  since  1842,  studying 
and  preparing  himself  for  the  higher  branches  of  musical 
composition.  The  talent  he  displayed  while  at  college,  and 
the  success  following  the  publication  of  a  set  of  beautiful 


THE  MARKET-WOMEN. 


127 


waltzes  he  there  composed,  led  him  to  choose  this  most  diffi¬ 
cult  but  lofty  path.  The  result  justifies  his  early  promise, 
and  gives  the  most  sanguine  anticipation  for  the  future.  He 
studied  the  first  two  years  here  under  Schnyder  von  War- 
tensee,  a  distinguished  Swiss  composer ;  and  his  exercises 
have  met  with  the  warmest  approval  from  Mendelssohn,  at 
present  the  first  German  composer,  and  Rinck,  the  celebrated 

r 

*  organist.  The  enormous  labor  and  application  required  to 
go  through  the  preparatory  studies  alone,  would  make  it 
seem  almost  impossible  for  one  with  the  restless  energy  of 
the  American  character,  to  undertake  it ;  but  as  this  very 
energy  gives  genius  its  greatest  power,  we  may  now  trust 
with  confidence  that  Mr.  Willis,  since  he  has  nearly  com¬ 
pleted  his  studies,  will  win  himself  and  his  country  honor  in 
the  difficult  path  he  has  chosen. 

I  often  look  out  on  the  singular  scene  below  my  window. 
On  both  sides  of  the  street,  leaving  barely  room  to  enter 
the  houses,  sit  the  market-women,  with  their  baskets  of 
vegetables  and  fruit.  The  middle  of  the  street  is  filled  with 
female  purchasers,  and  every  cart  or  carriage  that  comes 
along,  has  to  force  its  way  through  the  crowd,  sometimes 
rolling  against  and  overturning  the  baskets  at  the  sides,  an 
occurrence  which  is  always  followed  by  a  Babel  of  unintel¬ 
ligible  sounds.  The  country-women  in  their  jackets  and 

« 

short  gowns  go  backwards  and  forwards  with  great  loads  on 
their  heads,  sometimes  nearly  as  high  as  themselves.  The 
market-women  sit  here  from  sunrise  till  sunset,  day  after 
day,  for  years.  They  have  little  furnaces  for  cooking  and 
for  warmth  in  winter,  and  when  it  rains  they  sit  in  large 
wooden  boxes.  One  or  two  policemen  are  generally  on  the 


•  128 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ground  in  the  morning  to  prevent  their  disputing  about 
places,  which  often  gives  rise  to  grotesque  scenes.  Perhaps 
this  kind  of  life  in  the  open  air  is  conducive  to  longevity  ; 
for  certainly  there  is  no  country  on  earth  that  has  as  many 
old  women.  Many  of  them  resemble  walking  machines 
made  of  leather  ;  and  to  judge  from  what  I  see  in  the  streets 
here,  I  should  think  they  work  until  they  die. 

On  the  21st  of  October  a  most  interesting  fete  took  place. 
The  magnificent  monument  of  Goethe,  modelled  by  the 
sculptor  Schwanthaler,  at  Munich,  and  cast  in  bronze,  was 
unveiled.  It  arrived  a  few  days  before,  and  was  received 
with  much  ceremony  and  erected  in  the  destined  spot,  an 
open  square  in  the  western  part  of  the  city,  planted  with 
acacia  trees.  I  went  there  at  ten  o’clock,  and  found  the 
square  already  full  of  people.  Seats  had  been  erected 
around  the  monument  for  ladies,  the  singers  and  musicians. 
A  company  of  soldiers  was  stationed  to  keep  a  vacant  space 
for  the  procession,  which  at  length  arrived  with  music  and 
banners,  and  entered  the  enclosure.  A  song  for  the  occasion 
was  sung  by  the  choir  with  such  perfect  harmony  and  unity, 
that  it  seemed  like  some  glorious  instrument  touched  by  a 
single  hand.  Then  a  poetical  address  was  delivered,  after 
which  four  young  men  took  their  stand  at  the  corners  of  the 
monument ;  the  drums  and  trumpets  gave  a  flourish,  and  the 
mantle  fell.  The  noble  figure  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the 
earth,  and  thus  amid  shoutings  and  the  triumphal  peal  of 
the  band,  the  form  of  Goethe  greeted  the  city  of  his  birth. 
He  is  represented  as  leaning  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  holding 
in  his  right  hand  a  roll  of  parchment,  and  in  his  left  a  wreath. 
The  pedestal,  which  is  also  of  bronze,  contains  bas-reliefs, 


THE  STREETS  OF  FRANKFORT. 


129 


representing  scenes  from  Faust,  Wilhelm  Meister  and 
Egmont.  In  the  evening  Goethe’s  house,  in  an  adjoining 
street,  was  illuminated  by  arches  of  lamps  between  the 

windows,  and  hung  with  wreaths  of  flowers.  Four  pillars 

/ 

of  colored  lamps  lighted  the  statue.  At  nine  o’clock  the 
choir  of  singers  came  again  in  a  procession,  with  colored 
lanterns,  and  after  singing  two  or  three  songs,  the  statue  was 
exhibited  in  the  red  glare  of  the  Bengal  light.  The  trees 
and  houses  around  the  square  were  covered  with  the 
glow,  which  streamed  in  broad  sheets  up  against  the  dark 
sky. 

Within  the  walls  the  greater  part  of  Frankfort  is  built  in 
the  old  German  style — the  houses  six  or  seven  stories  high, 
and  every  story  projecting  out  over  the  other,  so  that  those 
living  in  the  attics  can  nearly  shake  hands  out  of  the  win¬ 
dows.  At  the  corners  one  sometimes  sees  grotesque  figures, 
bearing  the  projecting  upper  stories  on  their  shoulders  and 
making  horrible  faces  at  the  weight.  When  I  state  that  in 
all  these  narrow  streets  which  constitute  the  greater  part  of 
the  city,  there  are  no  sidewalks,  while  the  windows  of  the 
lower  stories  have  iron  gratings  extending  a  foot  or  so  into 
the  street,  which  is  only  wide  enough  for  one  cart  to  pass 
along,  you  can  have  some  idea  of  the  facility  of  walking 
through  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the  piles  of  wood,  and 
market-women  with  baskets  of  vegetables  which  one  is  con¬ 
tinually  stumbling  over. 

As  I  walked  across  the  Main,  and  looked  down  at  the 
swift  stream  on  its  way  from  the  distant  Thiiringian  forest 
to  join  the  Rhine,  I  thought  of  the  time  when  ^ chiller  stood 

there  in  the  days  of  his  early  struggles,  an  exile  from  his 

6* 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


130 

native  land,  and  looking  over  the  bridge,  said  in  the  loneli¬ 
ness  of  his  heart,  “  That  water  flows  not  so  deep  as  my 
sufferings  !  ”  In  the  middle,  on  an  iron  ornament,  stands 
the  golden  cock  at  which  Goethe  used. to  marvel  when  a 
boy.  Perhaps  you  have  not  heard  the  legend  connected 
with  this. .  The  bridge  was  built  several  hundred  years  ago, 
with  such  strength  and  solidity  that  it  will  stand  many 
hundred  yet.  The  architect  had  contracted  to  build  it 
within  a  certain  time,  but  as  it  drew  near,  without  any 
prospect  of  fulfilment,  the  devil  appeared  to  him  and 
promised  to  finish  it,  on  condition  of  having  the  first  soul 
that  passed  over  it.  This  was  agreed  upon,  and  the  devil 
performed  his  part  of  the  bargain.  The  artist,  however,  on 
the  day  appointed,  drove  a  cock  across  before  he  suffered 
any  one  to  pass  over  it.  His  majesty  stationed  himself 
under  the  middle  arch  of  the  bridge,  awaiting  his  prey  ; 
but  enraged  at  the  cheat,  he  tore  the  unfortunate  fowl  in 
pieces,  and  broke  two  holes  in  the  arch,  saying  they  should 
never  be  built  up  again.  The  golden  cock  was  erected  on 
the  bridge  as  a  token  of  the  event,  but  the  devil  has  perhaps 
lost  some  of  his  power  in  these  latter  days,  for  the  holes 
were  filled  up  about  thirty  years  ago. 

From  the  hills  on  the  Darmstadt  road,  I  had  a  view  of  the 
country  around — the  fields  were  white  and  bare,  and  the 
dark  Taunus,  with  the  broad  patches  of  snow  on  his  sides, 
looked  grim  and  shadowy  through  the  dim  atmosphere.  It 
was  like  the  landscape  of  a  dream — dark,  strange,  and 
silent.  The  whole  of  last  month  we  saw  the  sun  but  two  or 
three  days,  the  sky  being  almost  continually  covered  with 
a  gloomy  fog.  England  and  Germany  seem  to  have  ex- 


BAROK  ROTHSCHILD. 


131 


changed  climates  this  year,  for  in  the  former  country  we 
had  delightfully  clear  weather. 

I  have  seen  the  banker  Rothschild — Anselmo,  the  most 
celebrated  of  the  brothers — several  times  driving  about  the 
city.  He  is  a  little,  bald-headed  man,  with  marked  Jewish 
features,  and  is  said  not  to  deceive  his  looks.  At  any  rate, 
his  reputation  is  none  of  the  best,  either  with  Jews  or  Chris¬ 
tians.  A  caricature  was  published  some  time  ago,  in  which 
he  is  represented  as  giving  a  beggar  woman  by  the  way- 
side  a  kreutzer — the  smallest  German  coin.  She  is  made  to 
exclaim,  “  God  reward  you  a  thousand  fold  !  ”  He  imme¬ 
diately  replies,  after  reckoning  up  in  his  head,  “  How  much 
have  I  then  ? — sixteen  florins  and  forty  kreutzers  !  ” 

One  evening,  after  sunset,  we  took  a  stroll  around  the 
promenades.  The  swans  were  still  floating  on  the  little 
lake,  and  the  American  poplar  beside  it,  was  in  its  full 
autumn  livery.  As  we  made  the  circuit  of  the  walks,  guns 
were  firing  far  and  near,  celebrating  the  opening  of  the  vin¬ 
tage  the  next  day,  and  rockets  went  glittering  and  sparkling 
up  into  the  dark  air.  Notwithstanding  the  late  hour  and 
lowering  sky,  the  walks  were  full  of  people,  and  we  strolled 
about  with  them  until  it  grew  quite  dark,  watching  the  fire¬ 
works  which  arose  from  the  gardens  around.  The  next  day 
we  went  into  the  Frankfort  wood.  A  party  of  six  Ameri¬ 
cans  (all  who  are  now  in  Frankfort),  we  walked  over  the 
Main  and  through  the  dirty  suburbs  of  Sachsenhausen, 
where  we  met  with  many  peasants  laden  with  the  first  day’s 
vintage,  and  crowds  of  people  coming  down  from  the  vine¬ 
yards.  As  we  ascended  the  hill,  the  sound  of  muskets  was 
heard  in  every  direction,  and  from  many  vineyards  arose 


132 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  smoke  of  fires,  where  groups  of  merry  children  were  col¬ 
lecting  and  burning  the  rubbish.  We  became  lost  among 
the  winding  paths  of  the  pine  forest,  so  that  by  the  time  we 
came  out  upon  the  eminence  overlooking  the  valley  of  the 
Main,  it  was  quite  dark.  From  every  side,  far  and  near,  rock¬ 
ets  of  all  sizes  and  colors  darted  high  up  into  the  sky.  We 
stopped  under  a  garden  wall,  by  which  a  laughing  company 
were  assembled  in  the  smoke  and  red  blaze,  and  watched  seve¬ 
ral  comets  go  hissing  and  glancing  far  above  us.  The  crack¬ 
ing  of  ammunition  still  continued,  and  when  we  came  again 
upon  the  bridge,  the  city  opposite  was  lighted  as  if  illumin¬ 
ated.  The  full  moon  had  just  risen,  softening  and  mel¬ 
lowing  the  beautiful  scene,  while  beyond,  over  the  towers 
of  Frankfort,  rose  and  fell  the  meteors  that  heralded  the 
vintage. 

Since  I  have  been  in  Frankfort,  an  event  has  occurred, 
which  shows  very  distinctly  the  principles  at  work  in  Ger¬ 
many,  and  gives  us  some  foreboding  of  the  future.  Ferdi¬ 
nand  Freiligrath,  one  of  the  most  popular  living  poets,  has 
within  a  few  weeks  published  a  volume  of  poems  entitled 
“  My  Confessions  of  Faith,  or  Poems  for  the  Times.”  It 
contains  some  thrilling  appeals  to  the  free  spirit  of  the  Ger¬ 
man  people,  setting  forth  the  injustice  under  which  they 
labor,  in  simple  but  powerful  language,  and  with  the  most 
forcible  illustrations,  adapted  to  the  comprehension  of  every  * 
one.  Viewed  as  a  work  of  genius  alone,  it  is  strikingly 
powerful  and  original :  but  when  we  consider  the  effect  it  is 
producing  among  the  people — the  strength  it  will  add  to  the 
rising  tide  of  opposition  to  every  form  of  tyranny,  it  has  a 
still  higher  interest.  Freiligrath  had,  three  or  four  years 


THE  POET  FREILIGRATH. 


133 


before,  received  a  pension  of  three  hundred  thalers  from  the 
King  of  Prussia,  soon  after  his  accession  to  the  throne  :  he 
ceased  to  draw  this  about  a  year  ago,  stating  in  the  preface 
to  his  volume  that  it  was  accepted  in  the  belief  that  the 
King  would  adhere  to  his  promise  of  giving  the  people  a 
new  Constitution,  but  that  now,  since  time  has  proved  there 
is  no  dependence  to  be  placed  on  the  King’s  word,  he  must 
speak  for  his  people  and  for  his  land. 

The  book  has  not  only  been  prohibited,  but  Freiligrath 
has  exiled  himself  voluntarily,  to  escape  imprisonment.  He 
is  now  in  Paris,  where  the  poets  Heine  and  Herwegh,  both 
banished  for  the  same  reason,  are  living.  The  free  spirit 
which  characterizes  these  men,  who  come  from  among  the 
people,  shows  plainly  the  tendency  of  the  times ;  and  it  is 
only  the  great  strength  with  which  tyranny  here  has  envi¬ 
roned  itself,  combined  with  the  proverbial  apathy  of  the 
Germans,  which  has  prevented  a  change  ere  this. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

+■ 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  STUDENT  LIFE. 

A  Walk  to  Heidelberg — Winter  Journey — A  Commers — The  Red  Fisherman— The 
Hall  of  Assembly — The  Students — Songs  and  Speeches — The  Ceremony  of  the 
LciTidsfather — Geryinus  and  Schlosser — A  Duel  at  Neuenheim — Its  Result — Charac¬ 
ter  of  the  Students. 

Receiving  a  letter  from  my  cousin  one  bright  December 
morning,  the  idea  of  visiting  him  struck  me,  and  so,  within 

an  hour,  B - and  I  were  on  our  way  to  Heidelberg.  It 

was  delightful  weather ;  the  air  was  mild  as  the  early  days 
of  spring,  the  pine  forests  around  wore  a  softer  green,  and 
though  the  sun  was  but  a  hand’s  breadth  high,  even  at  noon, 
it  was  quite  warm  on  the  open  road.  We  stopped  for  the 
night  at  Bensheim  ;  and  the  next  morning  was  as  dark  as  a 
cloudy  day  in  the  north  can  be,  wearing  a  heavy  gloom  I 
never  saw  elsewhere.  The  wind  blew  the  snow  down  from 
the  summits  upon  us,  but  being  warm  from  walking,  we  did 
not  heed  it.  The  mountains  looked  higher  than  in  summer, 
and  the  old  castles  more  grim  and  frowning.  From  the  hard 
roads  and  freezing  wind,  my  feet  became  very  sore,  and 


A  COMMERS. 


135 


after  limping  along  in  excruciating  pain  for  a  league  or  two, 
I  poured  some  brandy  into  my  boots,  which  deadened  the 
wounds  so  much,  that  I  was  enabled  to  go  on  in  a  kind  of 
trot,  which  I  kept  up,  only  stopping  ten  minutes  to  dinner, 
until  we  reached  Heidelberg.  But  I  have  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  lameness  which  followed  this  performance. 

The  same  evening  there  was  to  be  a  general  commers ,  or 
meeting  of  the  societies  among  the  students,  and  I  determin¬ 
ed  not  to  omit  witnessing  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 

i 

characteristic  features  of  student-life.  So,  borrowing  a  cap 
and  coat,  I  looked  the  student  well  enough  to  pass  for  one 
of  them,  although  the  former  article  was  somewhat  of  the 
Pkihster  form.  Baader,  a  young  poet  of  some  note,  and 
president  of  the  “  Palatia”  Society,  having  promised  to  take 
us  to  the  Commers,  we  met  at  eight  o’clock  at  an  inn  fre¬ 
quented  by  the  students,  and  went  to  the  rendezvous,  near 
the  Markt  Platz. 

A  confused  sound  of  voices  came  from  the  inn,  as  we 
drew  near,  and  groups  of  students  were  standing  around  the 
door.  In  the'  entrance  hall  we  saw  the  Red  Fisherman,  one 
of  the  most  conspicuous  characters  about  the  University, 
He  is  a  small,  stout  man,  with  bare  neck  and  breast,  red 
hair,  whence  his  name,  and  a  strange  mixture  of  roughness 
and  benevolence  in  his  countenance.  He  has  saved  many 
persons  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  from  drowning  in  the 
Neckar,  and  on  that  account  is  leniently  dealt  with  by  the 
faculty  whenever  he  is  arrested  for  assisting  the  students  in 
any  of  their  unlawful  proceedings.  Entering  the  room  I 
could  scarcely  see  at  first,  on  account  of  the  smoke  that 
ascended  from  a  hundred  pipes.  All  was  noise  and  confu- 


136 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sion.  Near  the  door  sat  some  half  dozen  musicians,  who 
were  getting  their  instruments  ready  for  action,  and  the 
long  room  was  filled  with  tables,  all  of  which  seemed  to  be 
full,  yet  the  students  were  still  pressing  in.  The  tables  were 
covered  with  great  stone  jugs  and  long  beer  glasses ;  the 
students  were  talking  and  shouting  and  drinking.  One  who 
appeared  to  have  the  arrangement  of  the  meeting,  found 
seats  for  us  together,  and  having  made  a  slight  acquaintance 
with  those  sitting  next  us,  we  felt  more  at  liberty  to  witness 
their  proceedings.  They  were  all  talking  in  a  sociable, 
friendly  way,  and  I  saw  no  one  who  appeared  to  be  intoxi¬ 
cated.  The  beer  was  a  weak  mixture,  which  I  should  think 
would  make  one  fall  over  from  its  weight,  rather  than  its 
intoxicating  properties.  Those  sitting  near  me  drank  but 
little,  and  that  principally  to  make  or  return  compliments. 
One  or  two  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  were  more  bois¬ 
terous,  and  more  than  one  glass  was  overturned  upon  their 
legs.  Leaves  containing  the  songs  for  the  evening  lay  at 

each  seat,  and  at  the  head,  where  the  President  sat,  were 

# 

two  swords  crossed,  with  which  he  occasionally  struck  upon 
the  table  to  preserve  order.  Our  President  was  a  fine, 
romantic-looking  young  man,  dressed  in  the  old  German 
*  costume, — black  beaver  and  plume,  and  velvet  doublet  with 
slashed  sleeves.  I  never  saw  in  any  company  of  young 
men,  so  many  handsome,  manly  countenances.  If  their 
faces  were  any  index  of  their  characters,  there  were  many 
noble,  free  souls  among  them.  Nearly  opposite  to  me  sat  a 
young  poet,  whose  dark  eyes  flashed  with  feeling  as  he 
spoke  to  those  near  him.  After  some  time  passed  in  talking 
and  drinking  together,  varied  by  an  occasional  air  from  the 


SONGS  AND  SPEECHES. 


137 


musicians,  the  President  beat  order  with  the  sword,  and  the 
whole  company  joined  in  one  of  their  glorious  songs,  to  a 
melody  at  the  same  time  joyous  and  solemn.  Swelled  by 
so  many  manly  voices  it  arose  like  a  hymn  of  triumph 
- — all  other  sounds  were  stilled.  Three  times  during  the 
singing  all  rose  to  their  feet,  clashed  their  glasses  together 
around  the  tables  and  drank  to  their  Fatherland,  a  health 
and  blessing  to  the  patriot,  and  honor  to  those  who  struggle 
in  the  cause  of  freedom. 

After  this  song,  the  same  order  was  continued  as  before, 
except  that  students  from  the  different  societies  made  short 
speeches,  accompanied  by  some  toast  or  sentiment.  One 
spoke  of  Germany — predicting  that  all  her  dissensions  would 
be  overcome,  and  she  would  arise  at  last,  like  a  phoenix, 
among  the  nations  of  Europe  ;  and  at  the  close  gave 
“  strong,  united,  regenerated  Germany  !  ”  Instantly  all 
sprang  to  their  feet,  and  clashing  the  glasses  together,  gave 
a  thundering  “hoch  !  ”  This  enthusiasm  for  their  country 
is  one  of  the  strongest  characteristics  of  the  German  stu¬ 
dents  ;  they  have  ever  been  first  in  the  field  for  her  freedom, 
and  on  them  mainly  depends  her  future  redemption. 

Cloths  were  passed  around,  the  tables  wiped  off,  and 
preparations  made  to  sing  the  “  Landsjather ,”  or  consecra¬ 
tion  song.  This  is  one  of  the  most  important  and  solemn 
of  their  ceremonies,  since  by  performing  it  the  new  students 
are  made  burschen ,  and  the  bands  of  brotherhood  continually 
kept  fresh  and  sacred.  All  became  still  a  moment,  then 
commenced  the  lofty  song : 

“  Silent  bending,  each  one  lending 
To  the  solemn  tones  his  ear. 


133 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Hark,  the  song  of  songs  is  sounding— 

Back  from  joyful  choir  resounding, 

Hear  it,  German  brothers,  hear! 

“  German  proudly,  raise  it  loudly, 

Singing  of  your  fatherland — 

Fatherland !  thou  land  of  story, 

To  the  altars  of  thy  glory 

Consecrate  us,  sword  in  hand ! 

“  Take  the  beaker,  pleasure  seeker,  » 

With  thy  country’s  drink  brimmed  o’er ! 

In  thy  left  the  sword  is  blinking, 

Pierce  it  through  the  cap,  while  drinking 
To  thy  Fatherland  once  more !  ” 

With  the  first  line  of  the  last  stanza,  the  Presidents 
sitting  at  the  head  of  the  table,  take  their  glasses  in  their 
right  hands,  and  at  the  third  line,  the  sword  in  their  left, 
at  the  end  striking  their  glasses  together  and  drinking. 

“  In  left  hand  gleaming,  thou  art  beaming, 

Sword  from  all  dishonor  free ! 

Thus  I  pierce  the  cap,  while  swearing, 

It  in  honor  ever  wearing, 

I  a  valiant  Bursch  will  be !  ” 

• 

They  clash  their  swords  together  till  the  third  line  is 
sung,  when  each  takes  his  cap,  and  piercing  the  point  of 
the  sword  through  the  crown,  draws  it  down  to  the  guard. 
Leaving  their  caps  on  the  swords,  the  Presidents  stand 
behind  the  two  next  students,  who  go  through  the  same 
ceremony,  receiving  the  swords  at  the  appropriate  time,  and 
giving  them  back  loaded  with  their  caps  also.  This  cere- 


I 


CEREMONY  OF  THE  LANDSFATHER.  139 

mony  is  going  on  at  every  table  at  the  same  time.  These 
two  stanzas  are  repeated  for  every  pair  of  students,  till  all 
have  performed  it,  and  the  Presidents  have  arrived  at  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  with  their  swords  strung  full  of  caps. 
Here  they  exchange  swords,  while  all  sing  : 

“  Come,  thou  bright  sword,  now  made  holy, 

Of  free  men  the  weapon  free ; 

Bring  it  solemnly  and  slowly, 

Heavy  with  pierced  caps,  to  me ! 

From  its  burden  now  divest  it ; 

Brothers,  be  ye  covered  all, 

And  till  our  next  festival, 

Hallowed  and  unspotted  rest  it  l 

4 

“  Up,  ye  feast  companions !  ever 
Honor  ye  our  holy  band  ! 

And  with  heart  and  soul  endeavor 
E’er  as  high-souled  men  to  stand! 

Up  to  feast,  ye  men  united ! 

Worthy  be  your  fathers’  fame, 

And  the  sword  may  no  one  claim, 

Who  to  honor  is  not  plighted !” 

Then  each  President,  taking  a  cap  off  his  sword,  reaches 
it  to  the  student  opposite,  and  they  cross  their  swords,  the 
ends  resting  on  the  two  students’  heads,  while  they  sing  the 
next  stanza : 

“  So  take  it  back ;  thy  head  I  now  will  cover 
And  stretch  the  bright  sword  over. 

Live  also  then  this  Bursche,  hoch ! 

Wherever  we  may  meet  him, 

Will  we,  as  Brother,  greet  him — 

Live  also  this,  our  Brother,  hoch ! " 


140 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


This  ceremony  was  repeated  till  all  the  caps  were  given 
back,  and  they  then  concluded  with  the  following  : 

“  Rest,  the  Burschen-feast  is  over, 

Hallowed  sword,  and  thou  art  free! 

Each  one  strive  a  valiant  lover 
Of  his  fatherland  to  be  ! 

Hail  to  him,  who,  glory-haunted, 

Follows  still  his  fathers  bold ; 

And  the  sword  may  no  one  hold 
But  the  noble  and  undaunted !  ” 

The  Landsfather  being  over,  the  students  were  less  order¬ 
ly  ;  the  smoking  and  drinking  began  again,  and  we  left,  as  it 
was  already  eleven  o’clock,  glad  to  breathe  the  pure  cold  air. 

In  the  University  I  heard  Gervinus,  who  was  formerly 
professor  in  Gottingen,  but  was  obliged  to  leave  on  account 
of  his  liberal  principles.  He  is  much  liked  by  the  students, 
and  his  lectures  are  very  well  attended.  They  had  this 
winter  a  torchlight  procession  in  honor  of  him.  He  is  a 
stout,  round-faced  man,  speaks  very  fast,  and  makes  them 
laugh  continually  with  his  witty  remarks.  In  the  room  I 
saw  a  son  of  Riickert,  the  poet,  with  a  face  strikingly  like 
his  father’s.  The  next  evening  I  went  to  hear  Schlosser, 
the  great  historian.  Among  his  pupils  are  the  two  princes 
of  Baden,  who  are  now  at  the  University.  He  came  hur¬ 
riedly  in,  threw  down  his  portfolio  and  began  instantly  to 
speak.  He  is  an  old,  gray-headed  man,  but  still  active  and 
full  of  energy.  The  Germans  find  him  exceedingly  difficult 
to  understand,  as  the  construction  of  his  sentences  is  said  to 
be  English  rather  than  German  ;  for  this  reason,  perhaps, 


A  DUEL. 


141 


I  understood  him  quite  easily.  He  lectures  on  the  French 
Revolution,  but  is  engaged  in  writing  a  Universal  History, 
the  first  numbers  of  which  are  published. 

Two  or  three  days  after,  we  heard  that  a  duel  was  to  take 
place  at  Neuenheim,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Neckar, 
where  the  students  have  a  house  hired  for  that  purpose. 
In  order  to  witness  the  spectacle,  we  started  immediately 
with  two  or  three  students.  Along  the  road  were  stationed 
old  women,  at  intervals,  as  guards,  to  give  notice  of  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  the  police,  and  from  these  we  learned  that  one  duel 
had  already  been  fought,  and  they  were  preparing  for  the 
other.  The  Red  Fisherman  was  busy  in  an  outer  room  grind¬ 
ing  the  swords,  which  are  made  as  sharp  as  razors.  In  the 
large  room  some  forty  or  fifty  students  were  walking  about, 
while  the  parties  were  preparing.  This  was  done  by  taking 
off  the  coat  and  vest,  and  binding  on  a  great  thick  leather  gar¬ 
ment,  which  reached  from  the  breast  to  the  knees,  completely 
protecting  the  body.  They  then  put  on  a  leather  glove  reach¬ 
ing  nearly  to  the  shoulder,  tied  a  thick  cravat  around  the 
throat,  and  donned  a  cap  with  a  large  vizor.  This  done,  they 
were  walked  about  the  room  a  short  time,  the  seconds  holding 
out  their  arms  to  strengthen  them  ;  their  faces  all  this  time 
betrayed  considerable  anxiety. 

All  being  ready,  the  seconds  took  their  stations  imme¬ 
diately  behind  them,  each  armed  with  a  sword,  and  gave 
the  words  :  “  ready — bind  your  weapons — loose  !”  They 
instantly  sprang  at  each  other,  exchanged  two  or  three 
blows,  when  the  seconds  cried  “halt!”  and  struck  their 
swords  up.  Twenty-four  rounds  of  this  kind  ended  the  duel, 
without  either  being  hurt,  though  the  cap  of  one  of  them  was 


142 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


cut  through  and  his  forehead  grazed.  All  their  duels  do  not 
end  so  fortunately,  however,  as  the  frightful  scars  on  the 
faces  of  many  of  those  present  testified.  It  is  a  gratification 
to  know  that  but  a  small  portion  of  the  students  keep  up  this 
barbarous  custom.  In  Heidelberg,  four  societies,  comprising 
more  than  one  half  the  students,  have  been  formed  to  discon¬ 
tinue  it.  A  strong  desire  for  such  a  reform  seems  to  prevail, 
and  the  custom  will  probably  be  totally  discontinued  in  a 
short  time. 

This  view  of  the  student-life  was  very  interesting  to  me ; 
it  appeared  in  a  much  better  light  than  I  had  been  accus- 
tomed  to  regard  it.  Their  peculiar  customs,  except  duelling 
and  excessive  drinking,  of  course,  may  be  the  better  tole¬ 
rated  when  we  consider  the  stand  which  they  have  taken 
for  the  liberty  of  Germany.  It  is  principally  through  them 

t 

that  a  free  spirit  is  kept  alive ;  they  have  ever  been  foremost 
to  rise  up  for  their  Fatherland,  and  bravest  in  its  defence. 
And  though  many  of  their  customs  have  so  often  been  held 
up  to  ridicule,  among  no  other  class  can  one  find  warmer, 
truer,  or  braver  hearts. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


CHRISTMAS  AND  NEW-YEAR  IN  GERMANY. 

Expenses  of  the  First  Six  Months  Abroad — Prospects  for  the  Future — Christmas  in 
Germany — The  Christmas  Booths — Visit  of  St.  Nicholas — Preparations  for  Christ¬ 
mas — Excitement  among  the  Children — Christmas  Eve — The  Christmas  Tree — 
Poetry  of  the  Festival — Welcome  to  the  New  Year — Scene  in  the  Streets. 

Frankfort,  January  2,  1845. 

I  have  lately  been  computing  how  much  my  travels  have 
cost  me  up  to  the  present  time,  and  how  long  I  can  remain 
abroad  to  continue  the  pilgrimage,  with  my  present  expecta¬ 
tions.  The  result  has  been  most  encouraging  to  my  plan. 
Before  leaving  home,  I  wrote  to  several  gentlemen  who  had 
visited  Europe,  asking  the  probable  expense  of  travel  and 
residence  abroad.  They  sent  different  accounts  ;  one  said  I 
must  calculate  to  spend  at  least  $1500  a  year ;  another 
suggested  $1000,  and  the  most  moderate  of  all,  said  that  it 
was  impossible  to  live  in  Europe  a  year  on  less  than  $500. 
Now,  six  months  have  elapsed  since  I  left  home — six 
months  of  greater  pleasure  and  profit  than  any  two  years 
of  my  former  life — and  my  expenses,  in  full,  amount  to 
$130 !  The  sum  with  which  I  left  home  will  soon  be 


144 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


exhausted,  it  is  true,  but  as  the  letters  which  I  have  sent 
to  the  Gazette  and  Post  have  proved  acceptable,  I  trust  to 
receive  a  remittance  shortly,  in  continuance  of  the  engage- 
ment.  I  find  that  it  would  be  almost  useless  for  me  to 
endeavor  to  obtain  employment  as  a  printer,  as  the  wages 
are  comparatively  small,  and  the  trade  is  overstocked  with 
workmen.  Besides,  after  a  tough  grapple,  I  am  just  begin¬ 
ning  to  feel  at  home  in  German  literature,  and  am  so  fasci¬ 
nated  with  the  wonderful  field  it  opens  to  me,  that  I  would 
rather  undergo  considerable  privation  than  give  up  my 
regular  hours  of  daily  study. 

T»Ye  have  lately  witnessed  the  most  beautiful  and  interest¬ 
ing  of  all  German  festivals — Christmas — which  is  celebrated 
in  a  style  truly  characteristic  of  the  people.  About  the 
commencement  of  December,  the  Christmarkt,  or  fair,  was 
opened  in  the  Bomerberg,  and  has  continued  to  the  present 
time.  The  booths,  decorated  with  green  boughs,  wTere  filled 
with  toys  of  various  kinds,  among  which,  during  the  first 
days,  the  figure  of  St.  Nicholas  was  conspicuous.  There 
were  bunches  of  wax  candles  to  illuminate  the  Christmas 
tree,  gingerbread  with  printed  mottoes  in  poetry,  beautiful 
little  earthenware,  basket-work,  and  a  wilderness  of  play¬ 
things.  The  fifth  of  December,  being  Nicholas  evening, 
the  booths  were  lighted  up,  and  the  square  was  filled  writh 
boys,  running  from  one  stand  to  another,  all  shouting  and 
talking  together  in  the  most  joyous  confusion.  Nurses  were 
going  around,  carrying  the  smaller  children  in  their  arms, 
and  parents  bought  presents  decorated  with  sprigs  of  pine 
and  carried  them  away.  Some  of  the  shops  exhibited  very 
beautiful  toys,  as  for  instance,  a  whole  grocery  store  in 


VISIT  OF  ST.  XICHOLA8. 


145 


miniature,  with  barrels,  boxes,  and  drawers,  filled  with 
sweetmeats,  a  kitchen  with  a  stove  and  all  suitable  utensils, 
which  could  readily  be  used,  and  sets  of  dishes  of  the  most 
diminutive  patterns. 

Many  of  the  tables  had  bundles  of  rods  with  gilded  bands, 
which  were  to  be  used  that  evening  by  the  persons  who 
represented  St.  Nicholas.  In  the  family  with  whom  we 
reside,  one  of  our  German  friends  dressed  himself  very 
grotesquely,  with  a  mask,  fur  robe,  and  long  tapering  cap.  He 
came  in  with  a  bunch  of  rods,  a  sack,  and  a  broom  for  a. 
sceptre.  After  we  all  had  received  our  share  of  the  beating, 
he  threw  the  contents  of  his  bag  on  the  table,  and  while  we 
were  scrambling  for  the  nuts  and  apples,  gave  us  many  smart 
raps  over  the  fingers.  In  many  families  the  children  are  made 
to  say,  “  I  thank  you,  Herr  Nicholas,”  and  the  rods  are  hung 
up  in  the  room  until  Christmas,  to  keep  them  in  good 
behavior.  This  was  only  a  forerunner  of  the  Christ-kind- 
chen’s  coming.  The  Nicolaus  is  the  punishing  spirit,  the 
Christ-kindchen  the  rewarding  one. 

When  this  time  was  over,  we  all  began  preparing  secretly 
our  presents  for  Christmas.  Every  day  there  wrere  consulta¬ 
tions  about  the  things  which  should  be  obtained.  It  was  so 
arranged  that  all  should  interchange  presents,  but  nobody 
must  know  beforehand  what  he  would  receive.  What 
pleasure  there  was  in  all  these  secret  purchases  and  prepara¬ 
tions  !  Scarcely  anything  was  thought  or  spoken  of  but 
Christmas,  and  every  day  the  consultations  became  more 
numerous  and  secret.  The  trees  were  bought  some  time  be¬ 
forehand,  but  as  we  Americans  were  to  witness  the  festival 
for  the  first  time,  we  were  not  allowed  to  see  them  prepared, 


140 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


in  order  that  the  effect  might  be  as  great  as  possible.  The 
market  in  the  Romerberg  Square  grew  constantly  larger  and 
more  brilliant.  Every  night  it  was  illuminated  with  lamps 
and  thronged  with  people.  Quite  a  forest  sprang  up  in  the 
street  before  our  door.  The  old  stone  house  opposite,  with 
the  traces  of  so  many  centuries  on  its  dark  face,  seemed  to 
stand  in  the  midst  of  a  garden.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  go  out 
every  evening  and  see  the  children  rushing  to  and  fro, 
shouting  and  selecting  toys  from  the  booths,  and  talking  all 
the  time  of  the  Christmas  that  was  so  near.  The  poor 
people  went  by  with  their  little  presents  hid  under  their 
cloaks,  lest  their  children  might  see  them  ;  every  heart  was 
glad  and  every  countenance  wore  a  smile  of  secret  pleasure. 

Finally,  the  day  before  Christmas  arrived.  The  streets 
were  so  full  I  could  scarce  make  my  way  through,  and  the 

sale  of  trees  went  on  more  rapidly  than  ever.  These  were 

•  ,  ■  * 

usually  branches  of  pine  or  fir,  set  upright  in  a  little  minia¬ 
ture  garden  of  moss.  When  the  lamps  were  lighted  at  night, 
our  street  had  the  appearance  of  an  illuminated  garden. 
We  were  prohibited  from  entering  the  rooms  up  stairs  in 
which  the  grand  ceremony  was  to  take  place,  being  obliged 
to  take  our  seats  in  those  arranged  for  the  guests,  and  wait 
with  impatience  the  hour  when  Christ-kindclien  should  call. 
Several  relatives  of  the  family  came,  and  what  was  more 
agreeable,  they  brought  with  them  five  or  six  children.  I 
was  anxious  to  see  how  they  would  view  the  ceremony. 
Finally,  in  the  midst  of  an  interesting  conversation,  we  heard 
the  bell  ringing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  We  all  started  up, 
and  made  for  the  door.  I  ran  up  the  steps  with  the  children 
at  my  heels,  and  at  the  top  met  a  blaze  of  dazzling  light, 


POETRY  OF  THE  FESTIVAL. 


147 


coming  from  tlie  open  door.  In  each  room  stood  a  great 
table,  on  which  the  presents  were  arranged,  amid  flowers 
and  wreaths.  From  the  centre  rose  the  beautiful  Christmas 
tree,  covered  with  wax  tapers  to  the  very  top,  which  made 
it  nearly  as  light  as  day,  while  every  bough  was  hung  with 
sweetmeats  and  gilded  nuts.  The  children  ran  shouting 
around  the  table,  hunting  their  presents,  while  the  older  per¬ 
sons  had  theirs  pointed  out  to  them.  I  had  a  little  library 
of  German  authors  as  my  share  ;  and  many  of  the  others 
received  quite  valuable  gifts. 

But  how  beautiful  was  the  heartfelt  joy  that  shone  on 
every  countenance  !  As  each  one  discovered  his  presents 
he  embraced  the  givers,  and  it  was  a  scene  of  unmingled  joy. 
It  is  a  glorious  feast,  this  Christmas  time  !  What  a  chorus 
from  happy  hearts  went  up  on  that  evening  to  Heaven  ! 
Full  of  poetry  and  feeling  and  glad  associations,  it  is  here 
anticipated  with  delight,  and  leaves  a  pleasant  memory  be¬ 
hind  it.  We  may  laugh  at  such  simple  festivals  at  home, 
and  prefer  to  shake  ourselves  loose  from  every  shackle  that 
bears  the  rust  of  the  Past,  but  we  would  certainly  be 
happier  if  some  of  these  beautiful  old  customs  were  better 
honored.  They  renew  the  bond  of  feeling  between  families 
and  friends,  and  strengthen  their  kindly  sympathy  ;  even 
lifelong  associates  require  occasions  of  this  kind  to  freshen 
the  tie  that  binds  them  together. 

New  Year’s  Eve  is  also  favored  with  a  peculiar  celebra¬ 
tion  in  Germany.  Every  body  remains  up  and  makes  him¬ 
self  merry  until  midnight.  The  Christmas  trees  are  again 
lighted,  and  while  the  tapers  are  burning  out  the  family  play 
for  articles  which  they  have  purchased  and  hung  an  the 


148 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


boughs.  It  is  so  arranged  that  each  one  shall  win  as  much 
as  he  gives,  and  the  change  of  articles  creates  much  amuse¬ 
ment.  One  of  the  ladies  rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  a  red 
silk  handkerchief  and  a  cake  of  soap,  while  a  cup  and  saucer 
and  a  pair  of  scissors  fell  to  my  lot.  As  midnight  drew  near, 
the  noise  became  louder  in  the  streets,  and  companies  of 
people,  some  of  them  singing  in  chorus,  passed  by  on  their 
way  to  the  Zeil.  Finally,  three-quarters  struck,  the  windows 
were  opened,  and  every  one  waited  anxiously  for  the  clock 
to  strike.  At  the  first  sound,  such  a  cry  arose  as  one  may 
imagine,  when  thirty  or  forty  thousand  persons  all  set  their 
lungs  going  at  once.  Every  -body  in  the  house,  in  the  street, 
over  the  whole  city,  shouted,  “  Prossl  Neu  Jahr  /”  In 
families,  all  the  members  embrace  each  other,  with  wishes  of 
happiness  for  the  new  year.  Then  the  windows  are  thrown 
open,  and  they  cry  to  their  neighbors  or  those  passing  by. 

After  we  had  exchanged  congratulations,  three  of  us  set 
out  for  the  Zeil.  The  streets  were  full  of  people,  shouting 
to  one  another  and  to  those  standing  at  the  open  windows. 
We  failed  not  to  cry  “  Prosst  Neu  Jahr  /”  wherever  we  saw 
a  damsel  at  the  window,  and  the  words  came  back  to  us  more 
musically  than  we  sent  them.  Along  the  Zeil  the  spectacle 
was  most  singular.  The  great  wide  street  was  filled  with 
companies  of  men,  marching  up  and  down,  while  from  the 
mass  rang  up  one  deafening,  unending  shout,  that  seemed  to 
pierce  the  black  sky  above.  The  whole  scene  looked 
stranger  and  wilder  in  the  flickering  light  of  the  swinging 
lamps,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  must  resemble  a  night 
in  Paris  during  the  French  Revolution. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


INCIDENTS  or  A  'WINTER  IN  FRANKFORT. 

Sports  on  the  Ice — Lessing's  Picture  of  Huss — The  Eschernheim  Tower — Severity 
of  the  Winter — Sufferings  of  Men  and  Beasts — My  Winter  Life — Matteus  and  the 
Stove — Hopes  of  Spring — The  Fair — Picturesque  Crowds — A  Vender  of  Blacking 
— Rise  of  the  Main — The  City  Inundated — Sachsenhausen  under  Water — A  Day  of 
Sunshine — Faces  in  the  Streets — German  Beauty — The  Flood  Increases — Devasta¬ 
tion — The  River  Falls — An  Explosion — German  Fire-Engines  and  Firemen. 

After  New  Year,  the  Main,  just  above  the  city,  and  the 
lakes  in  the  promenades,  were  frozen  over.  The  ice  was 
tried  by  the  police,  and  having  been  found  of  sufficient 
thickness,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  schoolboys,  permission  was 
given  to  skate.  The  lakes  were  soon  covered  with  merry 
skaters,  and  every  afternoon  the  banks  were  crowded  with 
spectators.  It  was  a  lively  sight  to  see  two  or  three  hun¬ 
dred  persons  darting  about,  turning  and  crossing  like  a  flock 
of  crows,  while,  by  means  of  arm-chairs  mounted  on  runners, 
the  ladies  were  enabled  to  join  in  the  sport,  and  whirl 
around  among  them.  Some  of  the  broad  meadows  near  the 
city,  which  were  covered  with  ice,  were  the  resort  of  the 


150 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


schools.  I  went  there  often  in  my  walks,  and  always  found 
two  or  three  schools,  with  the  teachers,  all  skating  together, 
and  playing  their  winter  games  on  the  ice.  I  have  often 
seen  them  on  the  meadows  along  the  Main,  and  the  teachers 
were  generally  quite  as  boisterous  as  the  scholars  in  their 
sports. 

In  the  Art  Institute  I  saw  the  picture  of  “Huss  before 
the  Council  of  Constance,”  by  the  painter  Lessing.  It  con¬ 
tains  upwards  of  twenty  figures.  The  artist  has  shown  the 
greatest  skill  in  the  expression  and  grouping  of  these.  Bish¬ 
ops  and  Cardinals  in  their  splendid  robes  are  seated  around 
a  table,  covered  with  parchment  folios,  and  before  them 
stands  Huss  alone.  His  face  is  pale  and  thin  with  long  im¬ 
prisonment  ;  he  has  lain  one  hand  on  his  breast,  while  with 
the  other  he  grasps  one  of  the  volumes  on  the  table ;  there 
is  an  air  of  majesty,  of  heavenly  serenity,  on  his  lofty  fore¬ 
head  and  in  his  calm  eye.  One  feels  instinctively  that  he 
has  truth  on  his  side.  There  can  be  no  deception,  no  false¬ 
hood  in  those  noble  features.  The  three  Italian  cardinals 
before  him  appear  to  be  full  of  passionate  rage  ;  the  bishop 
in  front,  who  holds  the  imperial  pass  given  to  Huss,  looks 
on  with  an  expression  of  scorn,  and  the  priests  around  have 
an  air  of  mingled  curiosity  and  hatred.  There  is  one,  how¬ 
ever,  in  whose  mild  features  and  tearful  eye  is  expressed 

•  . .  <  . .  . 

sympathy  and  pity  for  the  prisoner.  It  is  said  this  picture 
has  had  a  great  effect  upon  Catholics  who  have  seen  it,  in 
softening  the  bigotry  with  which  they  regarded  the  early 
reformers  ;  and  if  so,  it  is  a  triumphant  proof  how  much 
Art  can  effect  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  humanity. 

The  Eschernheim  Tower,  at  the  entrance  of  one  of  the 


THE  ESCHERNHEIM  TOWER. 


151 


city  gates,  is  universally  admired  by  strangers,  on  account 
of  its  picturesque  appearance,  overgrown  with  ivy  and  ter¬ 
minated  by  the  little  pointed  turrets,  which  one  sees  so 
often  in  Germany,  on  buildings  three  or  four  centuries  old. 
There  are  five  other  watch-towers  of  similar  form,  which 
stand  on  different  sides  of  the  city,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile 
or  two,  and  generally  upon  an  eminence  overlooking  the 
country.  They  were  erected  several  centuries  ago,  to  dis¬ 
cern  from  afar  the  approach  of  an  enemy,  and  protect  the 
caravans  of  merchants,  which  at  that  time  travelled  from 
city  to  city,  from  the  attacks  of  robbers.  The  Eschern- 
heim  Tower  is  interesting  from  another  circumstance, 
which,  whether  true  or  not,  is  universally  believed.  When 
Frankfort  was  under  the  sway  of  a  prince,  a  Swiss  hunter, 
for  some  civil  offence,  was  condemned  to  die.  He  begged 
his  life  from  the  prince,  who  granted  it  only  on  condition  that 
he  should  fire  the  figure  9  with  his  rifle  through  the  vane 
of  this  tower.  He  agreed,  and  did  it ;  and  at  the  present 
time,  one  can  distinguish  a  rude  9  on  the  vane,  as  if  cut 
with  bullets,  while  two  or  three  marks  at  the  side  appear  to 
be  from  stray  shots. 

The  promise  of  spring,  which  lately  visited  us,  was  not 
destined  for  fulfilment.  Shortly  afterwards  it  grew  cold 
again,  with  a  succession  of  snows  and  sharp  northerly  winds. 
Such  weather  at  the  commencement  of  spring  is  not  uncom¬ 
mon  in  America  ;  but  here  they  say  there  has  not  been  such 

t 

a  winter  known  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years.  In  the  north 
of  Prussia  many  persons  have  been  starved  to  death  on  ac¬ 
count  of  provisions  becoming  scarce.  Among  the  Hartz 
also,  the  suffering  is  very  great.  We  saw  something  of  the 


152 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


misery  even  here.  It  was  painful  to  walk  through  the 
streets  and  see  so  many  faces  bearing  plainly  the  marks  of 

•j*  •“  -r 

want,  so  many  pale,  hollow-eyed  creatures,  with  suffering 

*  \  't  -  *•  •  -  *  ••  / 

written  on  every  feature.  We  were  assailed  with  petitions 
for  help,  which  could  not  be  relieved,  though  it  pained  and 
saddened  the  heart  to  deny.  The  women,  too,  labor  like 

|f  w  ,  *  £  ^  t  *  \ 

brutes,  day  after  day.  Many  of  them  appear  cheerful 
and  contented,  and  are,  no  doubt,  tolerably  happy,  for  the 
Germans  have  all  true,  warm  hearts,  and  are  faithful  to  one 

another,  as  far  as  poverty  will  permit ;  but  one  cannot  see 

^  > 

-  *  •  j 

old,  grey-headed  women,  carrying  loads  on  their  heads  as 
heavy  as  themselves,  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  weather  and 
working  from  morning  till  night,  without  pity  and  indig¬ 
nation. 

So  unusually  severe  has  been  the  weather,  that  the  deer 

f  ».  (  x.  - 

and  hares  in  the  mountains  near,  came  nearly  starved,  and 
quite  tamed  by  hunger,  into  the  villages  to  hunt  food.  The 
people  fed  them  every  day,  and  also  carried  grain  into  the 
fields  for  the  partridges  and  pheasants,  which  flew  up  to 
them  like  domestic  fowls.  The  poor  ravens  made  me  really 
sad ;  some  lay  dead  in  the  fields  and  many  came  into  the 
city  perfectly  tame,  flying  along  the  Main  with  wungs  hardly 
strong  enough  to  bear  up  their  skeleton  bodies.  The  storks 
came  at  the  usual  time,  but  went  back  again.  I  hope  the 
year’s  blessing  has  not  departed  with  them,  according  to  the 
old  German  superstition. 

I  have  passed  the  winter  days  in  an  almost  unbroken 
routine  of  study,  relieved  by  a  daily  stroll  through  the  city 
and  suburbs,  with  an  occasional  visit  to  the  Opera,  the  Art 
Institute,  the  Library  and  Museum,  or  a  cheerful  social  even- 


MY  WINTER  LIFE. 


153 


ing  in  the  family  of  Herr  S - .  Frankfort  is  now  as  fami« 

liar  to  me  as  my  own  home,  and  I  have  so  completely 
adopted  the  German  nature  that  I  have  totally  lost  the  con¬ 
sciousness  of  being  a  foreigner.  I  begin  to  long  for  the 
spring,  in  order  to  shoulder  my  knapsack  once  more,  and 
wander  off  to  the  thousand  marvels  of  Europe  which  yet 
remain  unseen.  A  letter  from  home,  received  not  long  since, 
brings  me  a  welcome  remittance  of  one  hundred  dollars,  and 
I  can  now  look  forward  confidently  to  seeing  the  whole  of 
Germany  as  well  as  Switzerland.  Of  this  sum,  half  was 
advanced  by  Mr.  Patterson,  for  a  further  batch  of  twelve 
letters,  and  the  other  half  by  Mr.  Graham,  for  some  poems 
which  I  forwarded  to  him.  The  former  gentleman  has  also 
agreed  to  continue  his  engagement  for  the  remainder  of  my 
stay  in  Europe.  Thank  God,  all  my  hazards  are  now  over  ! 
The  experiment  is  successful ;  and  I  only  need  to  exercise 
strict  economy — perhaps  endure  a  little  privation — to  accom¬ 
plish  all  I  have  undertaken. 

We  have  suffered  somewhat  from  the  cold  this  winter. 
The  room  is  heated  by  an  immense  earthenware  stove,  which 
gives  out  little  warmth  until  it  has  devoured  much  fuel,  and 
fuel  is  very  expensive  here.  Besides,  the  draught  is  very 
imperfect,  and  sometimes  our  fire  will  not  burn  at  all.  The 
knecht  (man-servant)  of  Herr  S - ,  a  moon-faced,  blue¬ 

eyed  Suabian,  named  Matteus,  exhausts  much  of  his  energy 
upon  our  stove,  and  nothing  can  exceed  his  grin  of  triumph 
when,  after  an  hour's  labor,  he  pops  his  flaming  face  in  at 
the  door,  points  to  the  huge  mass  of  earthenware,  and 
exclaims:  *•  Da  ist's  !  da  ist’s  /”  (There  it  is  !)  Matteus 

sometimes  hears  Herr  S - ’s  bony  old  schimmel  in  his 

7* 


lo4 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


antiquated  carriage,  and  drives  us  four  Americans — Mr.  Wil¬ 
lis,  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Dennet,  B - and  myself — around 

the  suburbs.  Nothing  can  exceed  his  gravity  and  dignity 
on  such  occasions.  There  is  no  other  hnecht  in  Frankfort 
who  can  drive  four  Americans  through  the  streets,  and  Mat- 
teus  feels  all  the  responsibility  of  his  position.  We  are  also 
great  favorites  with  all  the  old  market-women  in  our  street, 
who  call  me  “  the  tall  American, ”  and  Willis  “  the  handsome 

American,”  while  Herr  S - ’s  house  is  known  as  ‘‘the 

American  Colony.” 


March  26. 

We  have  hopes  of  Spring  at  last.  Three  days  ago  the 
rain  began,  and  has  continued  with  little  intermission  until 
now.  The  air  is  warm,  the  snow  melts,  and  every  thing 
seems  to  announce  that  the  long  winter  is  breaking  up. 
The  Main  rises  fast,  and  rushes  by  the  city  like  an  arrow, 
whirling  large  masses  of  ice  upon  the  banks.  The  hills 
around  are  coming  out  from  under  the  snow,  and  the  lilac- 
buds  in  the  promenades  begin  to  expand  for  the  second  time. 

The  Fair  has  now  commenced  in  earnest,  and  it  is  a  most 
singular  and  interesting  sight.  The  open  squares  are  filled 
with  booths,  leaving  narrow  streets  between  them,  across 
which  canvas  is  spread.  Every  booth  is  open,  and  filled 
with  a  dazzling  display  of  wares  of  all  kinds.  Merchants 
assemble  from  all  parts  of  Europe.  The  Bohemians  come 
with  their  gorgeous  crystal  ware ;  the  Nurembergers  with 
their  toys,  quaint  and  fanciful  as  the  old  city  itself;  men 
from  the  Thuringian  forest,  with  minerals  and  canes,  and 


PICTURESQUE  CROWDS. 


155 


traders  from  Berlin,  Vienna,  Paris,  and  Switzerland,  with 
dry-goods  and  wares  of  all  kinds.  Near  the  Exchange  are 
two  or  three  companies  of  Tyrolese,  who  attract  much  of  my 
attention.  Their  costume  is  exceedingly  picturesque.  The 
men  have  all  splendid  manly  figures,  and  honor  and  bravery 
are  written  on  their  countenances.  One  of  the  girls  is  a 
charming  mountain  maiden,  and  with  her  pointed,  broad- 
brimmed  black  hat,  as  romantic  in  appearance  as  one  could 
desire.  The  musicians  have  arrived,  and  we  are  entertained 
the  whole  day  long  by  wandering  bands,  some  of  which  play 
very  finely.  The  best,  which  is  also  the  favorite  company, 
is  from  Saxony,  called  “  The  Mountain  Boys.”  They  are 
now  playing  in  our  street,  and  while  I  write,  one  of  the 
beautiful  airs  of  Norma  comes  up  through  the  din  of  the 
crowd.  In  fact,  music  is  heard  all  over  the  city,  and  the 
throngs  that  fill  every  street  with  their  variety  of  faces  and 
dresses,  somewhat  relieve  the  monotony  that  was  beginning 
to  make  Frankfort  tiresome. 

We  have  an  ever-varied  and  interesting  scene  from  our 
window.  Besides  the  motley  crowd  of  passers-by,  there  are 
booths  and  tables  stationed  thick  below.  One  man  in  par¬ 
ticular  is  busily  engaged  in  selling  his  store  of  blacking  in  the 
auction  style,  in  a  manner  that  would  do  credit  to  a  real 
Down-easter.  He  has  flaming  certificates  exhibited,  and 
prefaces  his  calls  to  buy  with  a  high-sounding  description  of 
its  wonderful  qualities.  He  has  a  bench  in  front,  where  he 
tests  it  on  the  shoes  of  his  customers,  or  if  none  of  these  are 
disposed  to  try  it,  on  his  own,  which  shine  like  mirrors.  So 
be  rattles  on  with  amazing  fluency  in  French,  German,  and 
*tal;an,  and  this,  with  his  black  beard  and  moustache,  and 


156 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


his  polite,  graceful  manner,  keeps  a  crowd  of  customers 
around  him,  so  that  the  wonderful  blacking  goes  off  as  fast 
as  he  can  supply  it. 


April  6. 

Old  Winter’s  gates  are  shut  close  behind  us,  and  the  sun 
looks  down  with  his  summer  countenance.  The  air,  after 
the  long  cold  rain,  is  like  that  of  Paradise.  All  things  are 
gay  and  bright,  and  every  body  is  in  motion.  Spring  com¬ 
menced  with  yesterday  in  earnest,  and  lo  !  before  night  the 
roads  were  dry  and  fine  as  if  there  had  been  no  rain  for  a 
month ;  and  the  gardeners  dug  and  planted  in  ground  which, 
eight  days  before,  was  covered  with  snow  ! 

After  having  lived  through  the  longest  winter  here,  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  wTe  were  destined  to  witness  the 
greatest  flood  for  sixty,  and  little  lower  than  any  within  the 
last  three  hundred  years.  On  the  28th  of  March,  the  river 
overflooded  the  high  pier  along  the  Main,  and  rising  higher 
and  higher,  began  to  come  into  the  gates  and  alleys.  Before 
niorht  the  whole  bank  was  covered,  and  the  water  intruded 
into  some  of  the  booths  in  the  Romerberg.  When  I  went 
there  the  next  morning,  it  was  a  sorrowful  sight.  Persons 
were  inside  the  gate  with  boats ;  so  rapidly  had  it  risen, 
that  many  of  the  merchants  had  no  time  to  move  their  wares, 
and  must  suffer  great  damage.  They  were  at  work  rescuing 
what  property  could  be  seized  in  haste,  and  constructing 
passages  into  the  houses  which  were  surrounded.  No  one 
seemed  to  think  of  buying  or  selling,  but  only  on  the  best 
method  of  escaping  the  danger.  Along  the  Main  it  was  still 


THE  CITY  INUNDATED. 


157 


worse.  From  the  water-gauge,  it  had  risen  seventeen  feet 
above  its  usual  level,  and  the  arches  of  the  bridge  were  filled 
nearly  to  the  top.  At  the  Upper-Main  gate,  every  thing 
was  flooded — houses,  gardens,  workshops,  &c. ;  the  water 
had  even  overrun  the  meadows  above  and  attacked  the  city 
from  behind,  so  that  a  part  of  the  beautiful  promenades  lay 
deep  under  water.  On  the  other  side,  we  could  see  houses 
standing  in  it  up  to  the  roof.  It  came  up  through  the  sewers 
into  thtf  middle  of  Frankfort ;  a  large  body  of  men  were 
kept  at  work  constructing  slight  bridges  to  walk  on,  and 
transporting  boats  to  places  where  they  were  needed.  This 
was  all  done  at  the  expense  of  the  city,  and  the  greatest 
readiness  was  everywhere  manifested  to  render  all  possible 
assistance.  In  the  Fischergasse,  I  saw  them  taking  provi¬ 
sions  to  the  people  in  boats  ;  one  man  even  fastened  a  loaf 
of  bread  to  the  end  of  a  broomstick  and  reached  it  across  the 
narrow  street  from  an  upper  story  window,  to  the  neighbor 
opposite.  News  came  that  Hausen,  a  village  towards  the 
Taunus,  about  two  miles  distant,  was  quite  under  water,  and 
that  the  people  clung  to  the  roofs  and  cried  for  help ;  but  it 
was  fortunately  false.  About  noon,  cannon  shots  were 
heard,  and  twenty  boats  were  sent  out  from  the  city. 

In  the  afternoon  I  ascended  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral, 
which  commands  a  wide  view  of  the  valley,  up  and  down. 
Just  above  the  city  the  plain  resembled  a  small  lake — be¬ 
tween  two  and  three  miles  wide.  A  row  of  new-built  houses 
stretched  into  it  like  a  long  promontory,  and  in  the  middle, 
like  an  island,  stood  a  country-seat  with  large  out-buildings 
The  river  sent  a  long  arm  out  below,  that  reached  up  through 
the  meadows  behind  the  city,  as  if  to  clasp  it  all  and  bear  it 


158 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


away  together.  A  heavy  storm  was  raging  along  the  whole 
extent  of  the  Taunus ;  hut  a  rainbow  stood  in  the  eastern 
sky.  I  thought  of  its  promise,  and  hoped,  for  the  sake  of 
the  hundreds  of  poor  people  who  were  suffering  by  the 
waters,  that  it  might  herald  their  fall. 

Wa  afterwards  went  over  to  Sachsenhausen,  which  was,  if 
possible,  in  a  still  more  unfortunate  condition.  The  water 
had  penetrated  the  passages  and  sewers,  and  from  these 
leaped  and  rushed  up  into  the  streets,  as  out  of  a  fountain. 
The  houses  next  to  the  Main,  which  were  first  filled,  poured 
torrents  out  of  the  doors  and  windows  into  the  street 
below.  These  people  were  nearly  all  poor,  and  could  ill 
afford  the  loss  of  time  and  damage  of  property.  The  stream 
was  filled  with  wood  and  boards,  and  even  whole  roofs,  with 
the  tiles  on,  went  floating  down.  The  bridge  was  crowded 
with  people  ;  one  saw  everywhere  mournful  countenances, 
and  heard  lamentations  over  the  catastrophe.  After  sunset, 
a  great  cloud,  filling  half  the  sky,  hung  above  ;  the  reflec¬ 
tion  of  its  glowing  crimson  tint,  joined  to  the  brown  hue  of 
the  water,  made  the  river  seem  like  a  current  of  fire. 

What  a  difference  a  little  sunshine  makes  !  I  could  have 
forgotten  the  season  the  next  day,  but  for  the  bare  trees  and 
swelling  Main,  as  I  threaded  my  way  through  the  hundreds 
of  people  who  thronged  its  banks.  It  was  that  soft  warmth 
that  comes  with  the  first  spring  days,  relaxing  the  body  and 
casting  a  dreamy  hue  over  the  mind.  I  leaned  over  the 
bridge  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  it,  and  listening  to  the  roar¬ 
ing  of  the  water  under  the  arches,  forgot  every  thing  else  for 
a  time.  It  was  amusing  to  walk  up  and  down  the  pier  and 
look  at  the  countenances  passing  by,  while  the  fancy  was 


TACES  IN  THE  STREET. 


159 


ever  ready,  weaving  a  tale  for  each.  My  favorite  Tyrolese 
were  there,  and  I  saw  a  Greek  leaning  over  the  stone  balus¬ 
trade,  wearing  the  red  cap  and  white  frock,  and  with  the 
long  dark  hair  and  fiery  eye  of  the  Orient.  I  could  not  but 
wonder,  as  he  looked  at  the  dim  hills  of  the  Odenwald, 
along  the  eastern  horizon,  whether  they  called  up  in  his 
mind  the  purple  isles  of  his  native  Archipelago. 

The  general  character  of  a  nation  is  plainly  stamped  on 
the  countenances  of  its  people.  One  who  notices  the  faces 
in  the  streets,  can  soon  distinguish,  by  the  glance  he  gives 
in  passing,  the  Englishman  or  the  Frenchman  from  the 
German,  and  the  Christian  from  the  Jew.  Not  less  striking 
is  the  difference  of  expression  between  the  Germans  them¬ 
selves  ;  and  in  places  where  all  classes  of  people  are  drawn 
together,  it  is  interesting  to  observe  how  accurately  these 
distinctions  are  drawn.  The  boys  have  generally  handsome, 
intelligent  faces,  and  like  all  boys,  they  are  full  of  life  and 
spirit,  for  they  know  nothing  of  the  laws  by  which  their 
country  is  chained  down,  and  would  not  care  for  them,  if 
they  did.  But  with  the  exception  of  the  students,  who  talk , 
at  least,  of  Liberty  and  Bight,  the  young  men  lose  this  spirit, 
and  at  last  settle  down  into  the  calm,  cautious,  apathetic  citi¬ 
zen.  One  distinguishes  an  Englishman  or  an  American,  also, 
in  this  respect,  very  easily  ;  the  former,  moreover,  by  a  cer¬ 
tain  cold  stateliness  and  reserve.  There  is  something,  how¬ 
ever,  about  a  Jew,  whether  English  or  German,  which  dis¬ 
tinguishes  him  from  all  others.  However  different  their 
faces,  there  is  a  family  character  which  runs  through  the 
whole  of  them.  It  lies  principally  in  their  high  cheek* 
bones,  prominent  nose,  and  thin,  compressed  lips ;  which,  es* 


100 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


pecially  in  elderly  men,  gives  a  peculiar  miserly  expression 
that  is  unmistakable. 

I  regret  to  say,  one  looks  almost  in  vain,  in  Germany,  foi 
a  handsome  female  countenance.  Here  and  there,  perhaps, 
is  a  woman  with  regular  features,  but  that  intellectual  ex¬ 
pression,  which  gives  such  a  charm  to  the  most  common  face, 
is  wanting.  I  have  seen  more  beautiful  women  in  one  night, 
in  a  public  assembly  in  America,  than  during  the  seven 
months  I  have  been  on  the  Continent.  Some  of  the  young 
Jewesses,  in  Frankfort,  are  considered  handsome,  but  their 
features  soon  become  too  strongly  marked.  In  a  public 
walk  the  number  of  positively  ugly  faces  is  really  asto* 
nishing. 

About  ten  o’clock  that  night,  I  heard  a  noise  of  persons 
running  in  the  street,  and  going  to  the  Romerberg,  found  the 
water  had  risen,  all  at  once,  much  higher,  and  was  still  rapid¬ 
ly  increasing.  People  were  setting  up  torches  and  length¬ 
ening  the  rafts,  which  had  been  already  formed.  The  lower 
part  of  the  city  was  a  real  Venice — the  streets  were  full  of 
boats,  and  people  could  even  row  about  in  their  own  houses ; 
though  it  was  not  quite  so  bad  as  the  flood  in  Georgia,  where 
they  went  up  stairs  to  bed  in  boats  !  Persons  were  calling 
in  all  directions — “  The  water  !  the  water  !  it  rises  continu¬ 
ally  !”  The  river  rushed  through  the  arches  of  the  bridge, 
foaming  and  dashing  with  a  noise  like  thunder,  and  the  red 
light  of  the  torches  along  the  shore  cast  a  flickering  glare  on 
the  troubled  waves.  It  was  then  twenty-one  feet  above  its 
usual  level.  Men  were  busy  all  around,  carrying  boats  and 
ladders  to  the  places  most  threatened,  or  emptying  cellars 
into  which  it  was  penetrating.  The  sudden  swelling  was 


AN  EXPLOSION. 


161 


occasioned  by  the  coining  down  of  the  floods  from  the  mourn 
tains  of  Spessart. 

Part  of  the  upper  quay  cracked  next  morning  and 
threatened  to  fall  in,  and  one  of  the  projecting  piers  of  the 
bridge  sank  away  three  or  iour  inches  from  the  main  body. 
In  Sachsenhausen  the  desolation  occasioned  by  the  flood  is 
absolutely  frightful ;  several  houses  have  fallen  into  total 
ruin.  All  business  was  stopped  for  the  day  ;  the  Exchange 
was  even  shut  up.  As  the  city  depends  almost  entirely  on 
pumps  for  its  supply  of  water,  and  these  were  filled  with  the 
flood,  we  have  been  drinking  the  muddy  current  of  the  Main 
ever  since.  The  damage  to  goods  is  very  great.  The  fain 
was  stopped  at  once,  and  the  loss  in  this  respect  alone,  must 
be  several  millions  of  florins.  The  water  began  to  fall  on 
the  1st,  and  has  now  sunk  about  ten  feet,  so  that  most  of 
the  houses  are  again  released,  though  in  a  bad  condition*. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  room,  writing, 
I  heard  all  at  once  an  explosion  like  a  cannon  in  the  street, 
followed  by  loud  and  continued  screams.  Looking  out  of 
the  window,  I  saw  the  people  rushing  by  with  goods  in 
their  arms,  some  wringing  their  hands  and  crying,  others 
running  in  all  directions.  Imagining  that  it  was  nothing 
less  than  the  tumbling  down  of  one  of  the  old  houses,  we 
ran  down  and  saw  a  shop  a  few  doors  off,  wrapped  in  flames. 
The  windows  were  bursting  out,  and  the  mingled  mass  of 
smoke  and  red  flame  reached  half  way  across  the  street. 
We  learned  afterwards  that  it  was  occasioned  by  the  explo¬ 
sion  of  a  jar  of  naphtha,  which  instantly  enveloped  the  whole 
room  in  fire,  the  people  barely  escaping  in  time.  The  per¬ 
sons  who  had  booths  near  were  standing  still  in  despair 


162 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


while  the  flames  were  beginning  to  touch  their  property.  A 
few  butchers  who  first  came  up,  did  almost  everything.  A 
fire-engine  arrived  soon,  but  it  was  ten  minutes  before  it 
began  to  play,  and  by  that  time  the  flames  wrere  coming  out 
of  the  upper  stories.  Then  the  supply  of  water  soon  failed, 
and  though  another  engine  came  up  shortly  after,  it  was 
some  time  before  it  could  be  put  in  order,  so  that  by  the  time 
they  got  fairly  to  work,  the  fire  had  made  its  way  nearly 
through  the  house.  The  water  was  first  brought  in  barrels 
drawn  by  horses,  until  some  officer  came  and  opened  the 
fire-plug.  The  police  were  busy  at  work  seizing  those  who 
came  by  and  setting  them  to  work  ;  and  as  the  alarm  had 
drawn  a  great  many  together,  they  at  last  began  to  effect 
something.  All  the  military  are  obliged  to  turn  out,  and  the 
officers  ^appeared  eager  to  use  their  authority  while  they 
could,  for  every  one  was  ordering  and  commanding,  till  it 
became  a  scene  of  perfect  confusion  and  uproar.  I  could  not 
help  laughing  heartily,  so  ludicrous  was  the  spectacle. 
There  were  little  miserable  engines,  not  much  bigger  than  a 
hand-cart,  and  looking  as  if  they  had  not  been  used  for  half 
a  century,  the  horses  running  backwards  and  forwards, 
dragging  barrels  which  were  emptied  into  tubs,  after  which 
the  water  was  finally  dipped  up  in  buckets,  and  emptied 
into  the  engines  !  These  machines  can  only  play  into  the 
second  or  third  story,  after  ^wliich  the  hose  was  taken  up 
into  the  houses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  made 
to  play  across.  After  four  hours  the  fire  was  overcome,  the 
house  being  thoroughly  burnt  out ;  it  happened  to  have 
double  fire-walls,  which  prevented  the  adjoining  buildings 
from  catching  easily. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE  SPEAKING  DEAF - MENDELSSOHN. 

The  Beauty  of  Spring — The  Frankfort  Cemetery — Precautions  against  Burying 
Alive — Monument  by  Thorwaldsen — The  Speaking  Deaf— Manner  of  Healing  them 
— Story  of  a  Boy — The  Hall  of  the  Emperors — Mendelssohn,  the  Composer — Seeing 
him  in  a  Crowd — Interview  with  him — His  Personal  Appearance  and  Conversation. 

Frankfort,  April  20,  1845. 

It  is  now  a  luxury  to  breathe.  These  spring  days  are  the 
perfection  of  delightful  weather.  Imagine  the  delicious 
temperature  of  our  Indian  summer  joined  to  the  life  and 
freshness  of  spring,  add  to  this  a  sky  of  the  purest  azure, 
and  a  breeze  filled  with  the  odor  of  violets, — the  most 
exquisite  of  all  perfumes, — and  you  will  have  some  idea  of 
it.  The  meadows  are  beginning  to  bloom,  and  I  have 
already  heard  the  larks  singing  high  up  in  the  sky.  Those 
sacred  birds,  the  storks,  have  returned  and  taken  possession 
of  their  old  nests  on  the  chimney-tops.  They  are  some¬ 
times  seen  walking  about  in  the  fields,  with  a  very  grave 
and  serious  air,  as  if  conscious  of  the  estimation  in  which 
they  are  held.  Everybody  is  out  in  the  open  air ;  the 
woods,  although  they  still  look  wintry,  are  filled  with 


164 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


people,  and  the  boatmen  on  the  Main  are  busy  ferrying  gay 
parties  across.  The  spring  has  been  so  long  in  coming, 
that  all  are  determined  to  enjoy  it  well  while  it  lasts. 

We  visited  the  Cemetery  a  few  days  ago.  The  dead- 
house,  where  corpses  are  placed  in  the  hope  of  resuscita¬ 
tion,  is  an  appendage  to  cemeteries  found  only  in  Germany. 
We  were  shown  into  a  narrow  chamber,  on  each  side  of 
which  were  six  cells,  into  which  one  could  distinctly  see,  by 
means  of  a  large  plate  of  glass.  In  each  of  these  is  a  bier 
for  the  body,  directly  above  which  hangs  a  cord,  having  on 
the  end  ten  thimbles,  which  are  put  upon  the  fingers  of  the 
corpse,  so  that  the  slightest  motion  strikes  a  bell  in  the 
watchman’s  room.  Lamps  are  lighted  at  night,  and  in 
winter  the  rooms  are  warmed.  In  the  watchman’s  chamber 
stands  a  clock  with  a  dial  of  twenty -four  hours,  and  oppo¬ 
site  every  hour  is  a  little  plate,  which  can  only  be  moved 
two  minutes  before  it  strikes.  If  then  the  watchman  has 
slept  or  neglected  his  duty  at  that  time,  he  cannot  move  it 
afterwards,  and  his  neglect  is  seen  by  the  superintendent. 
In  such  case,  he  is  severely  fined,  and  for  the  second  or 
third  offence,  dismissed.  There  are  other  rooms  adjoining, 
containing  beds,  baths,  galvanic  battery,  &c.  Nevertheless, 
they  say  there  has  been  no  resuscitation  during  the  fifteen 
years  since  the  Cemetery  has  been  opened. 

We  afterwards  went  to  the  end  of  the  Cemetery  to  see 
the  bas-reliefs  of  Thorwaldsen,  in  the  vault  of  the  Bethmann 
family.  They  are  three  in  number,  representing  the  death 
of  a  son  of  the  present  banker,  Moritz  von  Bethmann,  who 
was  drowned  in  the  Arno  about  fourteen  years  ago.  The 
middle  one  represents  the  young  man  drooping  in  his  chair, 


THE  SPEAKING  DEAF. 


165 


the  beautiful  Greek  Angel  of  Death  standing  at  his  back, 
with  one  arm  over  his  shoulder,  while  his  younger  brother 
is  sustaining  him,  and  receiving  the  wreath  that  drops  from 
his  sinking  hand.  The  young  woman  who  showed  us  these 
told  us  of  Thorwaldsen’s  visit  to  Frankfort,  about  three 
years  ago.  She  described  him*as  a  beautiful  and  venerable 
old  man,  with  long  white  locks  hanging  over  his  shoulder, 
and  still  vigorous  and  active  for  his  years.  There  seems  to 
have  been  much  resemblance  between  him  and  Dannecker — 
not  only  in  personal  appearance  and  character,  but  in  the 
simple  and  classical  beauty  of  their  works. 

On  our  return  to  the  city  we  visited  the  Institute  for  the 
Deaf ;  for  by  the  new  method  of  teaching  they  are  no  longer 
dumb .  It  is  a  handsome  building  in  the  gardens  skirting  the 
city.  "We  applied,  and  on  learning  we  were  strangers,  they 
gave  us  permission  to  enter.  The  instructress  took  us  into 
a  room  where  about  fifteen  small  children  were  assembled, 
and  addressing  one  of  the  girls,  said  in  a  distinct  tone  : 
“  These  gentlemen  are  from  America ;  the  deaf  children 
there  speak  with  their  fingers — canst  thou  speak  so  ?”  To 
which  the  child  answered  distinctly,  but  with  some  effort : 
“  No,  we  speak  with  our  mouths.’’  She  then  spoke  to  seve¬ 
ral  others  with  the  same  success ;  one  of  the  boys,  in  parti¬ 
cular,  articulated  with  astonishing  fluency.  It  was  interest¬ 
ing  to  watch  their  countenances,  which  were  alive  with 
eager  attention,  and  to  see  the  apparent  efforts  they  made 
to  utter  the  words.  They  spoke  in  a  monotonous  tone, 
slowly  and  deliberately,  but  their  voices  had  a  strange, 
sepulchral  sound,  which  was  at  first  unpleasant  to  the  ear. 
I  put  one  or  two  questions  to  a  little  boy,  which  he  answered 


166 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


quite  readily  ;  as  I  was  a  foreigner,  this  was  the  best  test 
that  could  be  given  of  the  success  of  the  method.  We  con¬ 
versed  afterwards  with  the  director,  who  received  us  kindly, 
and  appointed  a  day  for  us  to  come  and  seethe  system  more 
fully.  He  spoke  of  Dr.  Howe  and  Horace  Mann,  of  Bos¬ 
ton,  and  seemed  to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  introduction 
of  this  system  into  America. 

We  went  again  at  the  appointed  time,  and  as  their  draw¬ 
ing  teacher  was  there,  we  had  an  opportunity  of  looking 
over  their  sketches,  which  were  excellent.  The  director 
showed  us  the  manner  of  teaching  them,  by  means  of  a  look¬ 
ing-glass,  in  which  they  were  shown  the  different  positions 
of  the  organs  of  the  mouth,  and  afterwards  made  to  feel  the 
vibrations  of  the  throat  and  breast,  produced  by  the  sound. 
He  took  one  of  the  youngest  scholars,  covered  her  eyes,  and 
placing  her  hand  upon  his  throat,  articulated  the  second  sound 
of  A.  She  followed  him,  making  the  sound  softer  or  louder 
as  he  did.  All  the  consonants  were  recognized  and  repeated 
distinctly,  by  placing  her  hand  before  his  mouth.  Their  ex¬ 
ercises  in  reading,  speaking  with  one  another,  and  writing 
from  dictation,  succeeded  perfectly.  He  treated  them  as  if 
they  were  his  own  children,  and  sought  by  jesting  and  play¬ 
ing,  to  make  the  exercise  appear  like  sport.  They  call  him 
father,  and  appear  to  be  much  attached  to  him. 

One  of  the  pupils,  about  fourteen  years  old,  interested  me 
through  his  history.  He  and  his  sister  were  found  in  Sach- 
senhausen,  by  a  Frankfort  merchant,  in  a  horrible  condition. 
Their  mother  had  died  about  two  years  and  a  half  before, 
and  during  all  that  time  their  father  had  neglected  them, 
until  they  were  near  dead  through  privation  and  filth.  The 


THE  HALL  OF  THE  EMPERORS. 


167 


boy  was  placed  in  this  Institute,  and  the  girl  in  that  of  the 
Orphans.  He  soon  began  to  show  a  talent  for  modelling 
figures,  and  for  some  time  he  has  been  studying  under  the 
sculptor  Launitz.  I  saw  a  beautiful  copy  of  a  bas-relief  of 
Thorwaldsen  which  he  made,  as  well  as  an  original,  very 
interesting,  from  its  illustration  of  his  own  history.  It  was 
in  two  parts  ;  the  first  represented  himself  and  his  sister, 
kneeling  in  misery  before  a  ruined  family  altar,  by  which  an 
angel  was  standing,  who  took  him  by  one  hand,  and  pointed 
to  his  benefactor,  standing  near.  The  other  represented  the 
two  kneeling  in  gratitude  before  a  restored  altar,  on  which 
was  the  anchor  of  Hope.  From  above  streamed  down  a 
light,  where  two  angels  were  rejoicing  over  their  happiness. 
For  a  boy  of  fourteen,  deprived  of  one  of  the  most  valu¬ 
able  senses,  and  taken  from  such  a  horrible  condition  of 
life,  it  is  a  surprising  work,  and  gives  brilliant  hopes  for  his 
future. 

We  went  lately  into  the  Romerberg,  to  see  the  Kaisersaal 
and  the  other  rooms  formerly"  used  by  the  old  Emperors  of 
Germany^,  and  their  Senates.  The  former  is  now  in  the 
process  of  restoration.  The  ceiling  is  in  the  gorgeous  illu¬ 
minated  styde  of  the  middle  ages ;  along  each  side  are  rows 
of  niches  for  the  portraits  of  the  Emperors,  which  have  been 
painted  by-  the  best  artists  in  Berlin.  Dresden,  Vienna  and 
Munich.  It  is  remarkable  that  the  number  of  the  original 
niches  in  the  old  hall  should  exactly  correspond  with  the 
number  of  the  German  Emperors,  so  that  the  portrait  of  the 
Emperor  Francis  of  Austria,  who  was  the  last,  will  close  the 
long  rank  coming  down  from  Charlemagne.  The  pictures, 
or  at  least  such  of  them  as  are  already  finished,  are  kept  in 


168 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


another  room  ;  they  give  one  a  good  idea  of  the  changing 
styles  of  royal  costumes,  from  the  steel  shirt  and  helmet  to 
the  jewelled  diadem  and  velvet  robe.  I  looked  with  interest 
on  a  painting  of  Frederic  Barbarossa,  by  Lessing,  and  mused 
over  the  popular  tradition  that  he  sits  with  his  paladins  in  a 
mountain  cave  under  the  Castle  of  Kyffhauser,  ready  to 
come  forth  and  assist  his  Fatherland  in  the  hour  of  need. 
There  was  the  sturdy  form  of  Maximilian  ;  the  martial  Con¬ 
rad  ;  and  Ottos,  Siegfrieds  and  Sigismunds  in  plenty — many 

of  whom  moved  a  nation  in  their  day,  but  are  now  dust  and 

* 

almost  forgotten. 

Mendelssohn,  one  of  the  greatest  living  composers,  has 
been  spending  the  winter  here,  and  I  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  see  him  twice.  One  sunny  day,  three  weeks  ago, 
when  all  the  population  of  Frankfort  turned  out  upon  the 
budding  promenades  and  the  broad  quays  along  the  Main, 
to  enjoy  the  first  spring  weather,  I  went  on  my  usual  after¬ 
noon  stroll,  with  my  friend  Willis,  whose  glowing  talk  con¬ 
cerning  his  art  is  quite  as  refreshing  to  me  after  the  day’s 
study  in  the  gloomy  Markt-platz,  as  are  the  blue  hills  of 
Spessart,  which  we  see  from  the  bridge  over  the  river.  As 
we  were  threading  the  crowd  of  boatmen,  Tyrolese,  Sua- 
bians,  and  Bohemians,  on  the  quay,  my  eye  was  caught  by 
a  man  who  came  towards  us,  and  whose  face  and  air  were  in 
such  striking  contrast  to  those  about  him,  that  my  whole 
attention  was  at  once  fixed  upon  him.  He  was  6imply  and 
rather  negligently  dressed  in  dark  cloth,  with  a  cravat  tied 
loosely  about  his  neck.  His  beard  had  evidently  not  been 
touched  for  two  or  three  days,  and  his  black  hair  was  long 
and  frowzed  by  the  wind.  His  eyes,  which  were  large, 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  MENDELSSOHN. 


169 


dark,  and  kindling,  were  directed  forward  and  lifted  in  the 
abstraction  of  some  absorbing  thought,  and  as  he  passed,  I 
heard  him  singing  to  himself  in  a  voice  deep  but  not  loud, 
and  yet  with  a  far  different  tone  from  that  of  one  who  hums 
a  careless  air  as  he  walks.  But  a  few  notes  caught  my  ear, 
yet  I  remember  their  sound,  elevated  and  with  that  scarcely 
perceptible  vibration  wdiich  betrays  a  feeling  below  the 
soul’s  surface,  as  distinctly  now  as  at  the  time.  Willis 
grasped  my  arm  quickly,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  “  Mendels¬ 
sohn  !  ”  I  turned  hastily,  and  looked  after  him  as  he  went 
down  the  quay,  apparently  but  half  conscious  of  the  stirring 
scenes  around  him.  I  could  easily  imagine  how  the  balmy, 
indolent  sensation  in  the  air,  so  like  a  soothing  and  tran¬ 
quillizing  strain  of  music,  should  have  led  him  into  the  serene 
and  majestic  realm  of  his  own  creations. 

It  was  something  to  have  seen  a  man  of  genius  thus 
alone  and  in  communion  with  his  inspired  thoughts,  and  I 
could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  pleasure  at  the  idea  of  having 
unconsciously  acknowledged  his  character  before  I  knew 
his  name.  After  this  passing  glimpse,  this  flash  of  him, 
however,  came  the  natural  desire  to  see  his  features  in 
repose,  and  obtain  some  impression  of  his  personality.  An 
opportunity  soon  occurred.  The  performance  of  his  “  Wal- 
purgisnacht,,,  by  the  Caecilien-Verein,  a  day  or  two  there¬ 
after,  increased  the  enthusiasm  I  had  before  felt  for  his 
works,  and  full  of  the  recollection  of  its  sublime  Druid 
choruses,  I  wrote  a  few  lines  to  him,  expressive  of  the 
delight  they  had  given  me,  and  of  my  wish  to  possess  his 
name  in  autograph,  that  I  might  take  to  America  some 

token  connected  with  their  remembrance.  The  next  day  I 

8 


1*70 


VIEWS  A-EOOT. 


received  a  very  kind  note  in  reply,  enclosing  a  manuscript 
score  of  a  cliorus  from  the  “  Walpurgisnacht.” 

Summoning  up  my  courage  the  next  morning,  I  decided 
on  calling  upon  liim  in  person,  feeling  certain  that  he  would 
understand  the  motive  which  prompted  me  to  take  such  a 
liberty.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  his  residence  in  the 
Bockenheimcr  Gasse ,  in  the  western  part  of  the  city.  The 
servant  ushered  me  into  a  handsomely  furnished  room,  with 
a  carpet,  an  unusual  thing  in  German  houses  ;  a  grand  piano 

occupied  one  side  of  the  apartment.  These  struck  my  eye 

.  • 

on  entering,  but  my  observation  was  cut  short  by  the 
appearance  of  Mendelssohn.  A  few  words  of  introduction 
served  to  remove  any  embarrassment  I  might  have  felt  on 
account  of  my  unceremonious  call,  and  I  was  soon  put 
entirely  at  ease  by  his  frank  and  friendly  manner.  As  he 
sat  opposite  to  me,  beside  a  small  table,  covered  with 
articles  of  vert  a ,  I  was  much  struck  with  the  high  intel¬ 
lectual  beauty  of  his  countenance.  His  forehead  is  white, 
unwrinkled,  and  expanding  above,  in  the  region  of  the  ideal 
faculties.  His  eyes  are  large,  very  dark,  and  lambent  with 
a  light  that  seemed  to  come  through  them — like  the  phos¬ 
phorescent  gleam  on  the  ocean  at  midnight.  I  have  ob¬ 
served  this  peculiar  character  of  the  eye  only  in  men  of  the 
highest  genius.  None  of  the  engravings  of  Mendelssohn 
which  have  yet  been  made  give  any  idea  of  the  kindling 
effect  which  is  thus  given  to  his  face.  His  nose  is  slightly 
prominent,  and  the  traces  of  his  Jewish  blood  are  seen  in 
this,  as  well  as  the  thin  but  delicate  curve  of  the  upper  lip, 
and  the  high  cheek-bones.  Yet  it  is  the  Jewish  face  softened 
and  spiritualized,  retaining  none  of  its  coarser  characteristics. 


MENDELSSOHN. 


171 


The  faces  of  Jewish  youth  are  of  a  rare  and  remarkable 
beauty,  but  this  is  scarcely  ever  retained  beyond  the  first 
period  of  manhood.  In  Mendelssohn,  the  perpetual  youth 
of  spirit,  which  is  the  gift  of  genius  alone,  seems  to  have 
kept  his  features  moulded  to  its  expression,  while  the 
approach  of  maturer  years  but  heightens  and  strengthens 
its  character. 

He  spoke  of  German  music,  and  told  me  I  should  hear  it  best 
performed  in  Vienna  and  Berlin.  Some  remarks  on  America 
led  him  to  speak  of  the  proposed  Musical  Festival  in  New 
York.  He  has  received  a  letter  inviting  him  to  assist  in  it, 
and  said  he  would  gladly  attend  it,  but  his  duty  to  his  family 
will  not  permit  of  his  leaving.  He  appeared  to  be  much 
gratified  by  the  invitation,  not  only  for  the  personal  appre¬ 
ciation  which  it  implied,  but  as  a  cheering  sign  of  progress 
in  the  musical  art.  Mr.  Willis,  who  met  with  Mendelssohn 
last  summer,  at  the  baths  of  Krontlial,  said  that  he  expressed 
much  curiosity  respecting  our  native  negro  melodies — which, 
after  all,  form  the  only  peculiarly  national  music  we  possess 
— and  that  he  considers  some  of  them  exceedingly  beautiful 
and  original. 

I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  intrude  long  upon  the  morning 
hours  of  a  composer,  and  took  my  leave  after  a  short  inter¬ 
view.  Mendelssohn,  at  parting,  expressed  his  warm  interest 
in  our  country’s  progress,  especially  in  the  refined  arts,  and 
gave  me  a  kind  invitation  to  call  upon  him  in  whatever  Ger¬ 
man  city  I  should  find  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


JOtJRNEY  ON  FOOT  FROM  FRANKFORT  TO  CASSEU 

* 

Leaving  Frankfort — Plan  of  our  German  Tour — The  Country  in  Spring — A  “  Fighting” 
Journeyman — Giessen — The  Valley  of  the  Lahn — Foot-travelling  in  Hesse  Cassel — 
A  Village  Inn — A  Tattling  Boy — Mountain  Scenery — Meeting  with  Students — The 
City  of  Cassel — Carl,  the  Student — Walk  to  the  Wilhelmshohe — The  Giant’s  Castle — 
Cascades  and  F oun tains. 

The  day  for  leaving  Frankfort  came  at  last,  and  I  bade  adieu 
to  the  gloomy,  antique,  but  still  quaint  and  pleasant  city.  I 
felt  like  leaving  a  second  home,  so  much  had  the  memories 
of  many  delightful  hours  spent  there  attached  me  to  it :  I  shall 
long  retain  the  recollection  of  its  dark  old  streets,  its  massive 
devil-liaunted  bridge  and  the  ponderous  cathedral,  telling  of 
the  times  of  the  Crusaders.  I  toiled  up  the  long  hill  on  the 
road  to  Friedberg,  and  from  the  tower  at  the  top  took  a  last 
look  at  the  distant  city,  with  a  heart  heavier  than  the  knap¬ 
sack  whose  unaccustomed  weight  rested  uneasily  on  my 
shoulders.  Being  alone — starting  out  into  the  wide  world, 
where  as  yet  I  knew  no  one, — I  felt  much  more  deeply 
what  it  was  to  find  friends  in  a  strange  land.  But  parting 
is  the  wanderer’s  lot. 


173 


PLAN  OF  OUR  GERMAN  TOUR. 

We  had  determined  on  making  the  complete  tour  of  Ger¬ 
many  on  foot,  and  in  order  to  vary  it  somewhat,  my  friend 
and  I  proposed  taking  different  routes  from  Frankfort  to 
Leipsic.  He  chose  a  circuitous  course,  by  way  of  Nurem- 
berg  and  the  Thiiringian  forests ;  while  I,  whose  fancy  had 
been  running  wild  with  Goethe’s  witches,  preferred  looking 
on  the  gloom  and  grandeur  of  the  rugged  Hartz.  We  both 
left  Frankfort  on  the  23d  of  April,  each  bearing  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  the  same  person  in  Leipsic,  where  we  agreed 
to  meet  in  fourteen  days.  As  we  were  obliged  to  travel  as 
cheaply  as  possible,  I  started  with  but  seventy -nine  florins 
(a  florin  is  forty  cents  American),  well  knowing  that  if  I  took 
more,  I  should,  in  all  probability,  spend  proportionably  more 
also.  Thus,  armed  with  my  passport,  properly  vised,  a  knap¬ 
sack  weighing  fifteen  pounds  and  a  cane  from  the  Kentucky 
Mammoth  Cave,  I  began  my  lonely  walk  through  Northern 
Germany. 

The  warm  weather  of  the  week  previous  had  brought  out 
the  foliage  of  the  willows  and  other  early  trees,  and  the 
violets  and  cowslips  were  springing  up  in  the  meadows.  Keep¬ 
ing  along  the  foot  of  the  Taunus,  I  passed  over  great,  broad 
hills,  which  were  brown  with  the  spring  ploughing,  and  by 
sunset  reached  Friedberg — a  large  city,  on  the  summit  of  a 
*  hill.  The  next  morning,  after  sketching  its  old,  baronial 
castle,  I  crossed  the  meadows  to  Nauheim,  to  see  the  salt 
springs  there.  They  are  fifteen  in  number  ;  the  water,  which 
is  very  warm,  rushes  up  with  such  force  as  to  leap  several 
feet  above  the  earth.  The  buildings  made  for  evaporation 
are  nearly  two  miles  in  length ;  and  a  walk  along  the  top 
gives  a  delightful  view  of  the  surrounding  valleys.  After 


174 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


reaching  the  chaussee  again,  I  was  hailed  by  a  wandering 
journeyman  or  handwerker ,  as  they  are  called,  who  wanted 
company.  As  I  had  concluded  to  accept  all  offers  of  this 
kind,  we  trudged  along  together  very  pleasantly.  He  was 
from  Holstein,  on  the  borders  of  Denmark,  and  was  just  return¬ 
ing  home,  after  an  absence  of  six  years,  having  escaped  from 
Switzerland  after  the  late  battle  of  Luzerne,  which  he  had 
witnessed.  He  had  his  knapsack  and  tools  fastened  on 
wheels,  which  he  drew  after  him  quite  conveniently.  I  could 
not  help  laughing  at  the  adroit  manner  in  which  he  begged 
his  way  along,  through  every  village.  He  would  ask  me  to 
go  on  and  wait  for  him  at  the  further  end,  where  he  would 
join  me  after  a  short  delay,  with  a  handful  of  small  copper 
money,  which  he  said  he  had  fought  for , — the  handwerker’ s 
term  for  begged . 

We  passed  over  long  ranges  of  hills,  with  an  occasional 
view  of  the  Yogelsgebirge,  or  Bird’s  Mountains,  far  to  the 
east.  I  knew  at  length,  by  the  pointed  summits  of  the  hills, 
that  we  were  approaching  Giessen  and  the  valley  of  the 
Lahn.  Finally,  two  sharp  peaks  appeared  in  the  distance, 
each  crowned  with  a  picturesque  fortress,  and  the  spires  of 
Giessen  rose  from  the  valley  below.  Parting  from  my 
“  fighting”  companion,  I  passed  through  the  city  without 
stopping,  for  it  was  the  time  of  the  university  vacation,  and 
Dr.  Liebig,  the  world-renowned  chemist,  whom  I  desired  to 
see,  was  absent. 

Crossing  a  hill  or  two,  I  came  down  into  the  valley  of  the 
Lahn,  which  flows  through  meadows  of  the  brightest  green, 
with  red-roofed  cottages  nestled  among  gardens  and  orchards 
upon  its  banks.  The  women  here  wear  a  remarkable  cos- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  LAHN. 


175 

tume,  consisting  of  a  red  boddice  with  white  sleeves,  and  a 
dozen  skirts,  one  above  another,  reaching  only  to  the  knees. 
I  slept  at  a  little  village  among  the  hills,  and  started  early 
for  Marburg.  The  meadows  were  of  the  purest  emerald, 
through  which  the  stream  wound  its  way,  with  even  borders, 
covered  to  the  water’s  edge  with  grass  so  smooth  and 
velvety,  that  a  fairy  might  have  danced  along  on  it  for  miles 
without  stumbling  over  an  uneven  tuft.  This  valley  is  one 
of  the  most  charming  districts  in  Germany.  I  thought,  as  I 
saw  the  peaceful  inhabitants  at  work  in  their  fields,  that  1 
had  most  probably,  on  the  battle-field  of  Brandywine, 
walked  over  the  bones  of  some  of  their  ancestors,  whom  a 
despotic  prince  had  torn  from  their  happy  homes,  to  die  in 
a  distant  land,  fighting  against  the  cause  of  freedom. 

I  now  entered  directly  into  the  heart  of  Hesse  Cassel. 
The  country  resembled  a  collection  of  hills  thrown  together 
in  confusion — sometimes  a  wide  plain  left  between  them, 
sometimes  a  cluster  of  wooded  peaks,  and  here  and  there  a 
single  pointed  summit  rising  high  above  the  rest.  The  valleys 
were  green  as  ever,  the  hill-sides  freshly  ploughed,  and  the 
forests  beginning  to  be  colored  by  the  tender  foliage  of  the 
larch  and  birch.  My  custom  was  to  walk  two  or  three 
hours  at  a  stretch,  and  then,  when  I  could  find  a  dry,  shady 
bank,  I  would  rest  for  half  an  hour  and  finish  some  hastily- 
sketched  landscape,  or  lie  at  full  length,  with  my  head  on 
my  knapsack,  and  peruse  the  countenances  of  those  passing 
by.  The  observation  which  every  traveller  excites,  soon 
ceases  to  be  embarrassing.  It  was  at  first  extremely 
unpleasant ;  but  I  am  now  so  hardened,  that  the 
strange,  magnetic  influence  of  the  human  eye,  which  we 


176 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


cannot  avoid  feeling,  fails  to  penetrate  my  acquired  indif¬ 
ference. 

During  the  day  several  sliowers  came  by,  but  as  none  of 
them  struck  quite  to  the  skin,  I  kept  on,  and  reached  about 
sunset  a  little  village  in  the  valley.  I  chose  a  small  inn, 
which  had  an  air  of  neatness  about  it,  and  on  going  in,  the 
tidy  landlady’s  “  be  you  welcome,”  as  she  brought  a  pair  of 
slippers  for  my  swollen  feet,  made  me  feel  quite  at  home. 
After  being  furnished  with  eggs,  milk,  butter,  and  bread,  for 
supper,  which  I  ate  while  listening  to  an  animated  discussion 
between  the  village  schoolmaster  and  some  farmers,  I  was 
ushered  into  a  clean,  sanded  bedroom,  and  soon  forgot  all 
fatigue.  For  this,  with  breakfast  in  the  morning,  the  bill 
was  six  and  a  half  groschen — about  sixteen  cents  !  The  air 
was  freshened  by  the  rain,  and  I  journeyed  over  the  hills  at 
a  rapid  rate.  Stopping  for  dinner  at  the  large  village  of 
Wabern,  a  boy  at  the  inn  asked  me  if  I  was  going  to  Ameri¬ 
ca  ?  I  said  no,  I  came  from  there.  He  then  addressed  to 
me  many  silly  questions,  after  which  he  ran  out  and  told  the 
people  of  the  village.  When  I  set  out  again,  the  children 
pointed  at  me  and  cried  :  “  see  there  !  he  is  from  America  !” 
and  the  men  took  off  their  hats  and  bowed  ! 

The  sky  was  stormy,  which  added  to  the  gloom  of  the 
hills  around,  although  some  of  the  distant  ranges  lay  in 
mingled  light  and  shade — the  softest  alternation  of  purple 
and  brown.  There  were  many  isolated,  rocky  hills,  two  of 
which  interested  me,  through  their  attendant  legends.  One 
is  said  to  have  been  the  scene  of  a  battle  between  the 
Romans  and  Germans,  where,  after  a  long  conflict,  the 
rock  opened  and  swallowed  up  the  former.  The  other, 


MEETING  WITH  STUDENTS. 


m 


which  is  crowned  with  a  rocky  wall,  so  like  a  ruined  fortress, 
as  at  a  distance  to  be  universally  mistaken  for  one,  tradition 
says  is  the  death-place  of  Charlemagne,  who  still  walks 
around  its  summit  every  night,  clad  in  complete  armor.  On 
ascending  a  hill  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  saw  at  a  great  dis¬ 
tance  the  statue  of  Hercules,  which  stands  on  the  TV  ilhelms- 
hohe,  near  Cassel.  Night  set  in  with  a  dreary  rain,  and  I 
stopped  at  an  inn  about  five  miles  short  of  the  city.  hile 
tea  was  preparing,  a  company  of  students  came  in  and  asked 
for  a  separate  room.  Seeing  I  was  alone,  they  invited  me 
to  join  them.  They  seemed  much  interested  in  America, 
and  leaving  the  table  gradually,  formed  a  ring  around  me, 
where  I  had  enough  to  do  to  talk  with  them  all  at  once. 
When  the  omnibus  came  along,  the  most  of  them  went  with 
it  to  Cassel ;  but  five  remained  and  persuaded  me  to  set  out 
with  them  on  foot.  They  insisted  on  carrying  my  knapsack 
the  whole  way,  through  the  rain  and  darkness,  and  when  I 
had  passed  the  city  gate  with  them,  unchallenged,  conducted 
me  to  the  comfortable  hotel,  “  Zur  Krone  ” 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  in  a 
strange  city.  Every  thing  is  new  ;  you  walk  around  it  for 
the  first  time  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  novelty,  or  the 
not  less  agreeable  feeling  of  surprise,  if  it  is  different  from 
your  anticipations.  Two  of  my  friends  of  the  previous 
night  called  for  me  in  the  morning,  to  pilot  me  around  the 
city,  and  the  first  impression,  made  in  such  agreeable  com¬ 
pany,  prepossessed  me  very  favorably.  I  shall  not,  how¬ 
ever,  take  up  time  in  describing  its  many  sights,  particularly 
the  Frederick’s  Platz,  where  the  statue  of  Frederick  the 

Second,  who  sold  ten  thousand  of  his  subjects  to  England, 

8* 


178 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


has  been  re-erected,  after  having  lain  for  years  in  a  stable 
where  it  was  thrown  by  the  French. 

I  was  much  interested  in  young  Carl  Iv - ,  one  of  my 

new  acquaintances.  His  generous  and  unceasing  kindness 
first  won  my  esteem,  and  I  found,  on  nearer  acquaintance, 
the  qualities  of  his  mind  equal  those  of  his  heart.  He  read 
to  me  many  beautiful  poems  of  his  which  were  of  remark¬ 
able  merit,  considering  his  youth,  and  I  thought  I  could  read 
in  his  dark,  dreamy  eye,  the  unconscious  presentiment  of  a 
power  lie  does  not  yet  possess.  He  seemed  as  one  I  had 
known  for  years. 

He,  with  a  brother  student,  accompanied  me  in  the  after¬ 
noon  to  Willi  elm  shohe,  the  summer  residence  of  the  Prince, 
on  the  side  of  a  range  of  mountains  three  miles  west  of  the 
city.  The  road  leads  in  a  direct  line  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  which  is  thirteen  hundred  feet  in  height,  surmount¬ 
ed  by  a  great  structure,  called  the  Giant’s  Castle,  on  the 
summit  of  which  is  a  pyramid  ninety-six  feet  high,  support¬ 
ing  a  statue  of  Hercules,  copied  after  the  Farnese,  and 
thirty-one  feet  in  height.  By  a  gradual  ascent  through 
beautiful  woods,  we  reached  the  princely  residence,  a  mag¬ 
nificent  mansion  standing  on  a  natural  terrace  of  the  moun¬ 
tain.  Xear  it  is  a  little  theatre  built  by  Jerome  Buonaparte, 
in  which  he  used  to  perform  occasionally.  e  looked  into 
the  green-house  in  passing,  where  the  floral  splendor  of  every 
zone  was  combined.  There  were  lofty  halls,  with  glass 
roofs,  where  the  orange  grew  to  a  great  tree,  and  one  could 
sit  in  myrtle  bowers,  with  the  brilliant  bloom  of  the  tropics 
around  him.  It  was  the  only  thing  there  I  was  guilty  of 
coveting. 


CASCADES  AT  WILHELMSHOHE. 


179 


The  greatest  curiosity  is  the  water-works,  which  are 
perhaps  unequalled  in  the  world.  The  Giant’s  Castle  on 
the  summit  contains  an  immense  tank  in  which  water  is 
kept  for  the  purpose,  but  unfortunately,  at  the  time  I  was 
there,  the  pipes,  which  had  been  frozen  through  the  winter, 
were  not  in  condition  to  play.  From  the  summit  an  inclined 
plane  of  masonry  descends  the  mountain  nine  hundred  feet, 
broken  every  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  by  perpendicular 
descents.  These  are  the  Cascades,  down  which  the  water 
first  rushes  from  the  tank.  After  being  again  collected  in  a 
great  basin  at  the  bottom,  it  passes  into  an  aqueduct,  built 
like  a  Roman  ruin,  and  goes  over  beautiful  arches  through 
the  forest,  where  it  falls  in  one  sheet  down  a  deep  precipice. 
When  it  has  descended  several  other  beautiful  falls,  made 
in  exact  imitation  of  nature,  it  is  finally  collected  and  forms 
the  great  fountain,  which  rises  twelve  inches  in  diameter 
from  the  middle  of  a  lake  to  the  height  of  one  hundred  and 
ninety  feet !  We  descended  by  lovely  walks  through  the 
forest  to  the  Lowenburg,  built  as  the  ruin  of  a  knightly 
castle,  and  fitted  out  in  every  respect  to  correspond  with  the 
descriptions  of  a  fortress  in  the  olden  time,  with  moat,  draw¬ 
bridge,  chapel  and  a  garden  of  clipped  trees.  Further  below, 
there  are  a  few  small  houses,  inhabited  by  the  descendants 
of  the  Hessians  who  fell  in  America,  supported  here  at  the 
Prince’s  expense ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


ADVENTURES  AMONG  THE  HAETI, 

Parting  from  Carl — The  Town  of  Munden — Illness — Gottingen,  and  a  Physician — 
Approach  to  the  Hartz — Osterode — Entering  the  Mountains — Wild  Scenery — A 
Stormy  Night — Climbing  the  Brocken — A  Snow  Storm — Perilous  Travelling — The 
Brocken  House — The  Spectre — Peeps  through  the  Clouds — Descent  of  the  Brocken 
— Valleys  of  the  Hartz — The  Rosstrappe — The  Landlady's  Legend — Walk  to  Hal- 
berstadt — A  Suspicious  Inn — The  Sleeping  Chamber — Anticipation  of  Murder— 
Belief 

On  taking  leave  of  Carl  at  the  gate  over  the  Gottingen  road, 
I  felt  tempted  to  bestow  a  malediction  upon  travelling,  from 
its  merciless  breaking  of  all  links,  as  soon  as  formed.  It 
was  painful  to  think  we  should  meet  no  more.  The  tears 
started  into  his  eyes,  and  feeling  a  mist  gathering  over 
mine,  I  gave  his  hand  a  parting  pressure,  turned  my  back 
upon  Cassel,  and  started  up  the  long  mountain,  at  a  despe¬ 
rate  rate.  On  the  summit  I  passed  out  of  Hesse  into  Hano¬ 
ver,  and  began  to  descend  the  remaining  six  miles.  The 
road  went  down  by  many  windings,  but  I  shortened  the 
way  considerably  by  a  foot-path  through  a  mossy  old 
forest.  The  hills  bordering  the  Weser  are  covered  with 
wood,  through  which  I  saw  the  little  red-roofed  city  of 


GOTTINGEN  AND  A  PHYSICIAN.  <181 

Munden,  at  the  bottom.  I  stopped  there  for  the  night,  and 
next  morning  walked  around  the  place.  It  is  one  of  the  old 
German  cities  that  have  not  yet  felt  the  effect  of  the 
changing  spirit  of  the  age.  It  is  still  walled,  though  the 
towers  are  falling  to  ruin.  The  streets  are  narrow,  crooked, 
and  full  of  ugly  old  houses,  and  while  standing  in  the  little 
square  before  the  public  buildings,  one  would  think  himself 
born  in  the  sixteenth  century,  Just  below  the  city,  the 
Werra  and  Fulda  unite  and  form  the  Weser.  The  triangu¬ 
lar  point  has  been  made  into  a  public  walk,  and  the  little 
steamboat  was  lying  at  anchor  near,  waiting  to  start  for 
Bremen. 

In  the  afternoon  I  got  into  the  omnibus  for  Gottingen. 
The  ride  over  the  wild,  dreary,  monotonous  hills  was  not  at 
all  interesting.  There  were  two  other  passengers  inside, 
one  of  whom,  a  grave,  elderly  man,  took  a  great  interest  in 
America,  but  the  conversation  was  principally  on  his  side  ; 
for  I  had  been  taken  with  a  fever  in  Munden.  I  lay 
crouched  up  in  the  corner  of  the  vehicle,  trying  to  keep  off 
the  chills  which  constantly  came  over  me,  and  wishing  only 
for  Gottingen,  that  I  might  obtain  medicine  and  abed.  We 
reached  the  city  at  last,  and  I  got  out  with  my  knapsack 
and  walked  wearily  through  half  a  dozen  streets  until  I  saw 
an  inn.  But  on  entering,  I  found  it  so  dark  and  dirty  and 
unfriendly,  that  I  immediately  went  out  again  and  hired  the 
first  pleasant  looking  boy  I  met,  to  take  me  to  a  good  hoteL 
He  conducted  me  to  the  best  in  the  city.  I  felt  a  trepida¬ 
tion  of  pocket,  but  my  throbbing  head  pleaded  more  power¬ 
fully,  so  I  ordered  a  comfortable  room  and  a  physician.  The 
host,  Herr  Wilhelm,  sent  for  Professor  Trefurt,  of  the  Uni- 


VIEWS  A-EOOT. 


182 

versity,  who  told  me  I  had  over-exerted  myself  In  walking. 
He  made  a  second  call  the  next  day,  when,  as  he  was 
retiring,  I  inquired  the  amount  of  his  fee.  He  begged  to  be 
excused,  and  politely  bowed  himself  out.  I  asked  the 
meaning  of  this  of  Herr  Wilhelm,  who  said  it  was  customary 
for  travellers  to  leave  what  they  chose  for  the  physician,  as 
there  was  no  regular  fee.  He  added,  moreover,  that  twenty 
groschen,  or  about  sixty  cents,  was  sufficient  for  the  two 
visits  ! 

I  stayed  in  Gottingen  two  dull,  dreary,  miserable  days, 
without  getting  much  better.  I  took  but  one  short  walk 
through  the  city,  in  which  I  saw  the  outsides  of  a  few  old 
churches  and  got  a  hard  fall  on  the  pavement.  Thinking 
that  the  cause  of  my  illness  might  perhaps  become  its  cure, 
I  resolved  to  resume  my  walk  rather  than  remain  in  the 
melancholy — in  spite  of  its  black-eyed  maidens,  melancholy 
— Gottingen.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  I  took 
the  post  to  Nordheim,  about  twelve  miles  distant.  The 
Gottingen  valley,  down  which  we  drove,  was  green  and 
beautiful,  and  the  trees  seemed  to  have  come  into  leaf  all  at 
once.  We  were  not  within  sight  of  the  Hartz,  but  the 
mountains  along  the  Weser  were  visible  on  the  left.  The 
roads  were  extremely  muddy  from  the  late  rains,  so  that  I 
proceeded  but  slowly. 

A  blue  range  along  the  horizon  told  me  of  the  Hartz,  as  I 
advanced,  but  although  there  were  some  fine  side-glimpses 
through  the  hills,  I  did  not  see  much  of  them  until  I  reached 
Osterode,  about  twelve  miles  further.  Here  the  country 
begins  to  assume  a  different  aspect.  The  city  lies  in  a 
narrow  valley,  and  as  the  road  goes  down  a  steep  hill 


ENTERING  THE  HARTZ. 


183 


towards  it,  one  sees  on  eacli  side  many  quarries  of  gypsum, 
and  in  front  the  gloomy  pine  mountains  are  piled  one  above 
another  in  real  Alpine  style.  But  alas  !  the  city,  though  it 
looks  exceedingly  romantic  from  above,  is  one  of  the  dirtiest 
places  I  ever  saw.  I  stopped  at  Herzberg,  six  miles  farther, 
for  the  night.  The  scenery  was  very  striking  ;  and  its  effect 
was  much  heightened  by  a  sky  full  of  black  clouds,  which 
sent  down  a  liail-storm  as  they  passed  over.  The  hills  are 
covered  with  pine,  fir,  and  larch.  •  The  latter  tree,  in  its  first 
foliage,  is  most  delicate  and  beautiful.  Every  bough  is  like 
a  long  ostrich  plume,  and  when  one  of  them  stands  among 
the  dark  pines,  it  seems  as  light  and  airy  as  if  the  wind 
might  carry  it  away.  Just  opposite  Herzberg,  the  IJartz 
lowers  in  its  gloomy  and  mysterious  grandeur,  and  I  went 
to  sleep  with  the  pleasant  thought  that  an  hour’s  walk  on  the 
morrow  would  shut  me  up  in  its  deep  recesses. 

The  next  morning  I  entered  them.  The  road  led  up  a 
narrow  mountain  valley,  down  which  a  stream  was  rushing 
— on  all  sides  magnificent  forests  of  pine.  It  was  glorious 
to  look  down  their  long  aisles,  dim  and  silent,  with  a  floor  of 
thick  green  moss.  There  was  just  room  enough  for  the  road 
and  the  wild  stream  which  wound  its  way  zigzag  between  the 
hills,  affording  the  most  picturesque  mountain  scenery  along 
the  whole  route.  As  I  ascended,  the  mountains  became 
rougher  and  wilder,  and  in  the  shady  hollows  were  still  drifts 
of  snow.  Enjoying  every  thing  very  much,  I  walked  on 
without  taking  notice  of  the  road,  and  on  reaching  a  wild, 
rocky  chasm  called  the  “  Schlucht,”  was  obliged  to  turn 
aside  and  take  a  footpath  over  a  high  mountain  to  Andreas- 
berg,  a  town  built  on  a  summit  two  thousand  feet  above  the 


184 


VIEWS  A- FOOT. 


sea.  It  is  inhabited  almost  entirely  by  the  workmen  from 
the  mines. 

The  path  from  Andreasberg  to  the  Brocken  leads  along 
the  Rehberger  Ditches,  which  carry  water  about  six  miles 
for  the  ore-works.  After  going  through  a  thick  pine  wood, 
I  came  out  on  the  mountain-side,  where  rough  crags  over¬ 
hung  the  way,  and  through  the  tops  of  the  trees  I  had 
glimpses  into  the  gorge  below.  It  was  scenery  of  the 
wildest  character.  Directly  opposite  rose  a  mountain  wall, 
dark  and  stern  through  the  gloomy  sky  ;  far  below  the  little 
stream  of  the  Oder  foamed  over  the  rocks  with  a  continual 
roar,  and  one  or  two  white  cloud-wreaths  were  curling  up 
from  the  forests. 

I  followed  the  water-ditch  around  every  projection  of  the 
mountain,  still  ascending  higher  amid  the  same  wild  scenery, 
until  at  length  I  reached  the  Oderteich,  a  great  dam,  in  a 
kind  of  basin  formed  by  some  mountain  peaks  on  the  side 
of  the  Brocken.  It  has  a  breastwork  of  granite,  very  firm, 
and  furnishes  a  continual  supply  of  water  for  the  works. 
The  rain  soon  began  to  fall,  and  I  took  a  footpath  which 
went  winding  up  through  the  pine  wood.  The  storm  still 
increased,  and  finally  became  so  thick  and  dark  that  I  was 
obliged  to  stop  about  five  o’clock  at  Oderbruch,  a  toll-house 
and  tavern  on  the  side  of  the  Brocken,  on  the  boundary  be¬ 
tween  Brunswick  and  Hanover — the  second  highest  inhabit¬ 
ed  house  in  the  Hartz.  The  Brocken  was  invisible  through 
the  storm,  and  the  weather  foreboded  a  difficult  ascent.  The 
night  was  cold,  but  by  a  warm  fire  I  let  the  winds  howl  and 
the  rain  beat.  When  I  awoke  the  next  morning,  we  were  in 
clouds.  They  were  thick  on  every  side,  hiding  what  little 


THE  BROCKEN  IN  A  STORM. 


18  o 


view  there  was  through  the  openings  of  the  forest.  After 
breakfast,  however,  they  appeared  to  be  somewhat  thinner, 
and  I  decided  to  start  for  the  Brocken.  This  is  not  the 
usual  road  for  travellers  who  ascend,  being  not  only  rough 
but  difficult  to  find,  as  I  soon  discovered.  The  clouds 
gathered  around  again  after  I  set  out,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
walk  in  a  storm  of  mingled  rain  and  snow.  The  snow  lay 
several  feet  deep  in  the  forests,  and  the  path  was  in  many 
places  quite  drifted  over.  The  white  cloud-masses  were 
whirled  past  by  the  wind,  continually  enveloping  me  and 
shutting  out  every  view.  During  the  winter  the  path  had 
become,  in  many  places,  the  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent,  so 
that  sometimes  I  waded  knee-deep  in  snow,  and  sometimes 
I  walked  over  the  wet,  spongy  moss,  crawling  under  the 
long,  dripping  branches  of  the  stunted  pines.  After  a  long 
time  of  such  dreary  travelling,  I  came  to  two  rocks  called 
the  Stag  Horns,  standing  on  a  little  peak.  The  storm,  now 
all  snow,  blew  more  violently  than  ever,  and  the  path  was 
lost  under  the  deep  drifts. 

Comforting  myself  with  the  assurance  that  if  I  could  not 
find  my  way,  I  could  at  least  return,  I  began  searching,  and 
after  some  time,  came  upon  the  path  again.  Here  the  forest 
ceased  ;  the  way  led  on  large  stones  over  a  marshy,  ascend¬ 
ing  plain,  but  what  was  above,  or  on  either  side,  I  could  not 
see.  It  was  solitude  of  the  most  awful  kind.  There  was 
nothing  but  the  storm,  which  had  already  wet  me  through, 
and  the  bleak  gray  waste  of  rocks.  The  mountain  grew 
steeper  and  steeper  ;  I  could  barely  trace  the  path  by  the 
rocks  which  were  worn,  and  the  snow  threatened  soon  to 
cover  these.  Added  to  this,  although  the  walking  and  the 


186 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


fresli  mountain  air  had  removed  my  illness,  I  was  still  weals 

/ 

from  the  effects  of  it,  and  the  consequences  of  a  much  longer 
exposure  to  the  storm  were  greatly  to  be  feared.  After  two 
or  three  hours  spent  in  this  way,  I  found  myself  growing 
chill  in  spite  of  the  labor  of  climbing  ;  the  path  was  wholly 
lost,  the  snow  was  blinding,  and  the  wind  increased  at  such 
a  rate,  that  I  began  to  think  I  should  be  carried  away 
bodily,  when  suddenly  something  dark  loomed  up  above  me 
through  the  storm.  A  few  steps  more  and  I  stood  beside 
the  Brocken  House,  on  the  very  summit  of  the  mountain ! 
The  mariner,  who  has  been  floating  for  days  on  a  wreck  at  ' 
sea,  could  scarcely  be  more  rejoiced  at  a  friendly  sail,  than  I 
was  on  entering  the  low  building.  Two  large  Alpine  dogs 
in  the  passage,  gave  notice  to  the  inmates,  as  I  walked  in, 
dripping  with  wet,  and  I  was  soon  ushered  into  a  warm  room, 
where  I  changed  my  soaked  garments  for  dry  ones,  and  sat 
down  by  the  fire  with  feelings  of  comfort  not  easily  imagin¬ 
ed.  The  old  landlord  was  quite  surprised,  on  learning  the 
path  by  which  I  came,  that  I  had  succeeded  in  finding  the 
way  at  all.  The  summit  was  wrapped  in  the  thickest  cloud, 
and  he  gave  me  no  hope  of  any  prospect  for  several  hours, 
so  I  sat  down  and  looked  over  the  Stranger’s  Album. 

There  were  a  great  many  long-winded  German  poems — 
among  them,  one  by  Sclielling,  the  philosopher.  Some  of 
the  visitors  spoke  of  having  seen  the  Spectre  of  the  Brocken. 

I  inquired  of  the  landlord  about  the  phenomenon  ;  he  says 
it  is  frequently  seen  in  winter,  but  in  summer  more  seldom. 
It  always  occurs  at  sunrise,  when  the  eastern  side  of  the 
Brocken  is  free  from  clouds,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  mist 
rises  from  the  valley  on  the  opposite  side.  The  shadow  of 


GLIMPSES  THROUGH  THE  CLOUDS. 


187 


every  tiling  on  the  Brocken  is  then  projected  in  grand  pro- 

% 

portions  upon  the  mist,  and  sometimes  surrounded  with  a 
luminous  halo.  It  is  somewhat  singular  that  such  a  spectacle 
is  peculiar  to  the  Brocken  alone,  but  this  is  probably  account¬ 
ed  for  by  the  formation  of  the  mountain,  which  collects  the 
mist  at  just  such  a  distance  from  the  summit  as  to  render 
the  shadow  visible. 

Soon  after  dinner  the  storm  subsided  and  the  clouds  sepa¬ 
rated  a  little.  I  could  see  down  through  the  rifts  on  the 
plains  of  Brunswick,  and  sometimes,  when  they  opened  a 
little  more,  the  mountains  below  us  to  the  east  and  the 
adjoining  plains,  as  far  as  Magdeburg.  It  was  like  looking 
on  the  earth  from  another  planet,  or  from  some  point  in  the 
air  which  had  no  connection  with  it ;  our  station  was  com¬ 
pletely  surrounded  by  clouds,  rolling  in  great  masses  around 
us,  now  and  then  giving  glimpses  through  their  openings  of 
the  blue  plains,  dotted  with  cities  and  villages,  far  below. 
At  one  time  when  they  were  tolerably  well  separated,  I 
ascended  the  tower,  fifty  feet  high,  standing  near  the 
Brocken  House.  The  view  on  three  sides  was  quite  clear, 
and  I  can  easily  imagine  what  a  magnificent  prospect  it 
must  be  in  fine  weather.  The  Brocken  is  only  about  four 
thousand  feet  high,  nearly  the  same  as  the  loftiest  peak  of 
the  Catskill,  but  being  the  highest  mountain  in  Northern 
Germany,  it  commands  a  more  extensive  prospect.  Imagine 
a  circle  described  with  a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles,  com¬ 
prising  thirty  cities,  two  or  three  hundred  villages,  and  one 
whole  mountain  district!  We  could  see  Brunswick  and 
Magdeburg,  and  beyond  them  the  great  plain  which  extends 
to  the  North  Sea  in  one  direction  and  to  Berlin  in  the  other, 


188 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


while  directly  below  us  lay  the  dark  mountains  of  the  Hartz* 
with  little  villages  in  their  sequestered  valleys.  It  was  only 
during  a  few  moments  that  I  could  look  on  this  scene — in 
an  instant  the  clouds  swept  together  again  and  completely 
hid  it.  In  accordance  with  a  custom  of  the  mountain,  one 
of  the  girls  made  me  a  “  Brocken  nosegay,”  of  heather, 
lichens  and  moss.  I  gave  her  a  few  pfennings  and  stowed 
it  away  carefully  in  a  corner  of  my  knapsack. 

I  now  began  descending  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain, 
by  a  good  road  over  fields  of  gray  rock  and  through  large 
forests  of  pine.  Two  or  three  bare  brown  peaks  rose  oppo¬ 
site  with  an  air  of  the  wildest  sublimity,  and  in  many  places 
lofty  crags  towered  above  the  forest.  This  is  the  way  by 
which  Goethe  brings  Faust  up  the  Brocken,  and  the  scenery 
is  graphically  described  in  that  part  of  the  poem.  At  the 
foot  of  the  mountain  is  the  little  village  of  Scliiercke,  the 
highest  in  the  Hartz.  Here  I  took  a  narrow  path  through 
the  woods,  and  after  following  a  tediously  long  road  over 
the  hills,  reached  Elbingerode,  where  I  spent  the  night. 
The  next  morning  I  started  for  Blankenburg.  I  happened 

4 

to  take  the  wrong  road,  however,  and  went  through  Riibe- 
land,  a  little  village  in  the  valley  of  the  Bode.  There  are 
many  iron  works  here,  and  two  celebrated  caves,  called 
“  Baumann’s  Hohle,”  and  “  Biel’s  Hohle.”  I  kept  on 
through  the  gray,  rocky  hills  to  Huttenrode,  where  I  inquir- 

9  _ 

ed  the  way  to  the  Rosstrappe,  but  was  wrongly  directed, 
and  after  -walking  nearly  two  hours  in  a  heavy  rain,  arrive'd 
at  Ludwigshiitte,  on  the  Bode,  in  one  of  the  wildest  and 
loneliest  corners  of  the  Hartz.  I  dried  my  wet  clothes  at  a 
little  inn,  ate  a  dinner  of  bread  and  milk,  and  learning  that 


THE  ROSSTRAPPE. 


189 


I  was  just  as  far  from  the  Rosstrappe  as  ever,  and  that  it 
was  impossible  to  find  the  way  alone,  I  engaged  an  old  pea¬ 
sant  woman  as  a  guide.  She  insisted  on  carrying  my  knap¬ 
sack  in  a  basket  which  she  strapped  to  her  shoulders,  and 
then  set  off  at  a  pace  which  I  could  scarcely  keep  up  with. 
We  went  over  the  mountains  through  a  fine  old  forest,  for 
about  two  hours,  and  came  out  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  near 
the  end  of  the  Hartz,  with  a  beautiful  view  of  the  country 
below  and  around.  Passing  the  little  inn,  the  path  led 
through  thick  bushes  along  the  summit,  over  a  narrow  ledge 
of  rocks  that  seemed  to  stretch  out  into  the  air,  for  on  either 
side  the  foot  of  the  precipice  vanished  in  the  depth  below. 

j  _ 

Arrived  at  last  at  the  end,  I  looked  around  me.  What  a 
spectacle !  I  was  standing  on  the  end  of  a  line  of  precipice 
which  ran  out  from  the  mountain  like  a  wall  for  several  hun¬ 
dred  feet — the  hills  around  rising  perpendicularly  from  the 
gorge  below,  where  the  Bode,  pressed  into  a  narrow  channel, 
foamed  its  way  through.  Sharp  masses  of  gray  rock  sprang 
from  the  main  body  like  pillars,  with  trees  clinging  to  the 
clefts,  and  although  the  defile  was  nearly  seven  hundred 
feet  deep,  the  summits,  in  one  place,  seemed  almost  to  touch. 
Near  the  point  at  which  I  stood,  which  was  secured  by  a 
railing,  was  an  impression  in  the  rock  like  the  hoof  of  a  giant 
horse,  from  which  the  place  takes  its  name.  It  is  very  dis¬ 
tinct  and  perfect,  and  about  two  feet  in  length. 

I  went  back  to  the  little  inn  and  sat  down  to  rest  and  chat 
awhile  with  the  talkative  landlady.  Notwithstanding  her  hor¬ 
rible  Prussian  dialect,  I  was  much  amused  with  the  budget 
of  wonders,  which  she  keeps  for  the  information  of  travellers. 
Among  other  things,  she  related  to  me  the  legend  of  the 


190 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Rosstrappe,  which  I  give  in  her  own  words  :  “  A  great  many 
hundred  years  ago,  when  there  were  plenty  of  giants  through 
the  world,  there  was  a  certain  beautiful  princess,  who  was 
very  much  loved  by  one  of  them.  Now,  although  the  pa¬ 
rents  of  this  princess  were  afraid  of  the  giant,  and  wrnnted 
her  to  marry  him,  she  herself  hated  him,  because  she  was  in 
love  with  a  brave  knight.  But,  you  see,  the  brave  knight 
could  do  nothing  against  the  great  giant,  and  so  a  day  was 
appointed  for  the  wedding  of  the  princess.  When  they  were 
married,  the  giant  had  a  great  feast,  and  he  and  all  his  ser¬ 
vants  got  drunk.  So  the  princess  mounted  his  black  horse 
and  rode  away  over  the  mountains,  till  she  reached  this  val¬ 
ley.  She  stood  on  that  square  rock  which  you  see  there 
opposite  to  us,  and  when  she  saw  her  knight  on  this  side, 
where  we  are,  she  danced  for  joy,  and  the  rock  is  called  the 
Tanzplatz,  to  this  very  day.  But  when  the  giant  found  she 
had  gone,  he  followed  her  as  fast  as  he  might ;  then  a  holy 
bishop,  who  saw  the  princess,  blessed  the  feet  of  her  horse, 
and  she  jumped  on  it  across  to  this  side,  where  his  fore  feet 
made  two  marks  in  the  rock,  though  there  is  only  one  left 
now.  You  should  not  laugh  at  this,  for  if  there  were  giants 
then,  there  must  have  been  very  big  horses  too,  as  one  can 
see  from  the  hoofmark,  and  the  valley  was  narrower  then 
than  it  is  now.  My  dear  man,  who  is  very  old  now,  (you 
see  him  through  the  bushes,  there,  digging,)  says  it  was  so 
when  he  was  a  child,  and  that  the  old  people  living  then, 
told  him  there  were  once  four  just  such  hoof-tracks,  on  the 
Tanzplatz ,  where  the  horse  stood  before  he  jumped  over. 
And  we  cannot  doubt  the  words  of  the  good  old  people,  for 
there  were  many  strange  things  then,  we  all  know,  which  the 


HALBEASTADT - A  SUSPICIOUS  INN. 


191 


dear  Lord  does  not  let  happen  now.  But  I  must  tell  you, 
lieber  Herr,  that  the  giant  tried  to  jump  after  her  and  fell 
away  down  the  valley,  where  they  say  he  lives  yet  in  the 
shape  of  a  big  black  dog,  guarding  the  crown  of  the  princess, 
which  tumbled  off  as  she  was  going  over.  But  this  part  of 
the  story  is  perhaps  not  true,  as  nobody,  that  I  ever  heard 
of,  has  seen  either  the  black  dog  or  the  crown  !” 

After  listening  to  similar  gossip  for  a  while,  I  descended 
the  mountain-side,  a  short  distance  to  the  Biilowshohe, 
This  is  a  rocky  shaft  that  shoots  upward  from  the  mountain, 
having  from  its  top  a  glorious  view  through  the  door  which 
the  Bode  makes  in  passing  out  of  the  Hartz.  I  could  see  at 
a  great  distance  the  towers  of  Magdeburg,  and  further,  the 
vast  plain  stretching  away  like  a  sea  towards  Berlin.  From 
Thale,  the  village  below,  where  the  air  was  warmer  than  in 
the  Hartz,  and  the  fruit-trees  already  in  blossom,  it  was  four 
hours’  walk  to  Halberstadt,  by  a  most  tiresome  road  over 
long  ranges  of  hills,  all  ploughed  and  planted,  and  extending 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  without  a  single  fence  or 
hedge.  It  is  pleasant  to  look  over  scenes  where  nature  is 
so  free  and  unshackled ;  but  the  people,  alas  !  wear  the 
fetters.  The  setting  sun,  which  lighted  up  the  old  Brocken 
and  his  snowy  top,  showed  me  also  Halberstadt,  the  end  of 
my  Hartz  journey  ;  but  its  deceitful  towers  fled  as  I  ap¬ 
proached,  and  I  was  half  dead  with  fatigue  on  arriving 
there. 

The  ghostly,  dark  and  echoing  castle  of  an  inn  (the  Black 
Eagle)  where  I  stopped,  was  enough  to  inspire  a  lonely 
traveller,  like  myself,  with  unpleasant  fancies.  It  looked 
heavy  and  massive  enough  to  have  been  a  stout  baron’s 


192 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


stronghold  in  some  former  century  ;  the  taciturn  landlord 
and  his  wife,  who,  with  a  solemn  servant  girl,  were  the 
only  tenants,  had  grown  into  perfect  keeping  with  its  gloomy 
character.  When  I  groped  my  way  under  the  heavy, 
arched  portal  into  the  guests’  room — a  large,  lofty,  cheerless 
hall — all  was  dark,  and  I  could  barely  perceive,  by  the  little 
light  which  came  through  two  deep-set  windows,  the  inmates 
of  the  house,  sitting  on  opposite  sides  of  the  room.  After 
some  delay,  the  hostess  brought  a  light.  I  entreated  her  to 
furnish  me  something  for  supper,  and  in  half  an  hour  she 
placed  a  mixture  on  the  table,  the  like  of  which  I  never 
wish  to  taste  again.  She  called  it  beer-soup  !  I  found,  on 
examination,  it  was  beer,  boiled  with  meat,  and  seasoned 
strongly  with  pepper  and  salt !  My  hunger  disappeared,  and 
pleading  fatigue  as  an  excuse  for  want  of  appetite,  I  left  the 
table.  When  I  was  ready  to  retire,  the  landlady,  who  had 
been  sitting  silently  in  a  dark  corner,  called  the  solemn  servant 
girl,  who  took  up  a  dim  lamp,  and  bade  me  follow  her  to  the 
“  sleeping  chamber.”  Taking  up  my  knapsack  and  staff,  I 
stumbled  down  the  steps  into  the  arched  gateway  ;  before 
me  was  a  long,  damp,  deserted  court-yard,  across  which  the 
girl  took  her  way.  I  followed  her  with  some  astonish¬ 
ment,  imagining  where  the  sleeping  chamber  could  be,  when 
she  stopped  at  a  small,  one-story  building,  standing  alone  in 
the  yard.  Opening  the  door  with  a  rusty  key,  she  led  me 
into  a  bare  room,  a  few  feet  square,  opening  into  another, 
equally  bare,  with  the  exception  of  a  rough  bed,  “  Cer¬ 
tainly,”  said  I,  “  I  am  not  to  sleep  here  !  ”  “  Yes,”  she 

answered,  “  this  is  the  sleeping  chamber,”  at  the  same  time 
setting  down  the  light  and  disappearing.  I  examined  the 


APPREHENSION'S  OF  MURDER. 


193 


place — it  smelt  mouldy,  and  tlie  walls  were  cold  and  damp  ; 
there  had  been  a  window  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  but  it  was 
walled  up,  and  another  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  also  closed 
to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  top.  The  bed  was  coarse  and 
dirty ;  and  on  turning  down  the  ragged  covers,  I  saw  with 
horror,  a  dark  brown  stain  near  the  pillow,  like  that  of 
blood  !  For  a  moment  I  hesitated  whether  to  steal  out  of 
the  inn,  and  seek  another  lodging,  late  as  it  was  ;  at  last, 
overcoming  my  fears,  I  threw  my  clothes  into  a  heap,  and 
lay  down,  placing  my  heavy  staff  at  the  head  of  the  bed. 
Persons  passed  up  and  down  the  courtyard  several  times, 
the  light  of  their  lamps  streaming  through  the  narrow  aper¬ 
ture  up  against  the  ceiling,  and  I  distinctly  heard  voices, 
which  seemed  to  be  near  the  door.  Twice  did  I  sit  up  in 
bed,  breathless,  with  my  hand  on  the  cane,  in  the  most 
intense  anxiety ;  but  fatigue  finally  overcame  suspicion, 
and  I  sank  into  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  I  was  gladly 
awakened  by  daylight.  In  reality,  there  may  have  been  no 
cause  for  my  fears — I  may  have  wronged  the  lonely  inn¬ 
keepers  by  them  ;  but  certainly  no  place  or  circumstances 
ever  seemed  to  me  more  appropriate  to  a  deed  of  robbery  or 
crime.  I  left  immediately,  and  when  a  turn  in  the  street 
hid  the  front  of  the  ill-omened  inn,  I  began  to  breathe  with 
my  usual  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XIX, 


LEIPSIC  AND  DRESDEN© 

Magdeburg — Suspected  Passengers — Leipsic — View  of  the  Battle-Field — The  Rosen* 
thal — Schiller’s  Room — Auerbach’s  Cellar — Leipsic  Publishers — Gerstacker — Charms 
of  Dresden — The  Picture  Gallery — The  Madonna  di  San  Sisto — Monument  to 
Moreau— The  Royal  Library — The  Green  Vaults — Cages  of  Gems — Royal  Play¬ 
things. 


Dresden,  May  11,  1845. 

The  delay  occasioned  by  the  bad  weather  obliged  me  to 
take  the  railroad  at  Halberstadt,  to  keep  the  appointment 
with  my  friend,  in  Leipsic.  I  left  at  six  in  the  morning  for 
Magdeburg,  and  after  two  hours,  ride  over  a  dull,  tiresome 
plain,  passed  under  the  mounds  and  fortifications  by  the  side 
of  the  Elbe,  and  entered  the  old  town.  The  day  was  very 
cold,  and  the  streets  were  muddy,  so  I  contented  myself 
with  looking  at  the  Broadway,  ( der  breite  Weg ,)  the  Cathe- 

\ 

dral  and  one  or  two  curious  old  churches,  and  with  walking 
along  the  parapet  leading  to  the  fortress,  which  has  a  view 
of  the  winding  Elbe.  The  Citadel  was  interesting  from 
having  been  the  prison  in  which  Baron  Trenck  was  confined, 
whose  narrative  I  read  years  ago,  when  quite  a  child. 


LEIPSIC. 


1D5 


We  were  soon  on  the  road  to  Leipsic.  The  way  was  over 
one  great,  uninterrupted  plain — a  more  monotonous  country, 
even,  than  Belgium.  Two  of  the  passengers  with  me  in  the 
car  were  much  annoyed  at  being  taken  by  the  railway 
agents  for  Poles.  Their  movements  were  strictly  watched 
by  the  gensd’armes  at  every  station  we  passed,  and  they 
were  not  even  allowed  to  sit  together  !  At  Kotlien  a  branch 
track  went  off  to  Berlin.  We  passed  by  Halle  without 
being  able  to  see  anything  of  it  or  its  University,  and 
reached  Leipsic  in  four  hours  after  leaving  Magdeburg. 

On  my  first  walk  around  the  city,  the  next  morning,  I  passed 
the  Augustus  Platz — a  broad  green  lawn,  on  which  front 
the  University  and  several  other  public  buildings.  A  chain 

of  beautiful  promenades  encircles  the  city,  on  the  site  of  its 

_  .  •  #  , 
old  fortifications.  Following  their  course  through  walks 

shaded  by  large  trees  and  bordered  with  flowering  shrubs,  I 

passed  a  small  but  chaste  monument  to  Sebastian  Bach,  the 

composer,  which  was  erected  almost  entirely  at  the  private 

cost  of  Mendelssohn,  and  stands  opposite  the  building  in 

which  Bach  once  directed  the  choirs.  As  I  was  standing 

beside  it,  a  glorious  choral,  swelled  by  a  hundred  voices, 

came  through  the  open  windows,  like  a  tribute  to  the  genius 

of  the  great  master. 

Having  found  my  friend,  who  had  arrived  on  the  previous 
day  from  Weimar  and  Jena,  we  went  together  to  the  Stern 
T Varte,  or  Observatory,  which  gives  a  fine  view  of  the 
country  around  the  city,  and  in  particular  the  battle-field. 
The  Castellan  who  is  stationed  there,  is  well  acquainted 
with  the  localities,  and  pointed  out  the  position  of  the  hostile 
armies.  It  was  one  of  the  most  bloody  and  hard-fought 


196 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


battles  wbicb  history  records.  The  army  of  Napoleon 
stretched  like  a  semicircle  around  the  southern  and  eastern 
sides  of  the  city,  and  the  plain  beyond  was  occupied  by  the 
allies,  whose  forces  met  together  here.  Schwarzenburg,  with 
his  Austrians,  came  from  Dresden  ;  Blucher,  from  Halle, 
with  the  Emperor  Alexander.  Their  forces  amounted  to 
three  hundred  thousand,  while  those  of  Napoleon  ranked  at 
one  hundred  and  ninety-two  thousand  men.  It  must  have 
been  a  terrific  scene.  The  battle  raged  four  days,  and  the 
meeting  ,of  half  a  million  of  men  in  deadly  conflict  was 
accompanied  by  the  thunder  of  sixteen  hundred  cannon- 
The  small  rivers  which  flow  through  Leipsic  were  swollen 
with  blood,  and  the  vast  plain  was  covered  with  upwards 
of  fifty  thousand  dead.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  such 
slaughter,  while  looking  at  the  quiet  and  peaceful  landscape 
below.  It  seemed  more  like  a  legend  of  past  ages,  when 
ignorance  and  passion  led  men  to  murder  and  destroy,  than 
an  event  which  the  last  half  century  witnessed.  For  the 
sake  of  humanity  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  world  will  never 
see  such  another. 

There  are  some  lovely  walks  around  Leipsic.  We  went 
in  the  afternoon  with  a  few  friends  to  the  Rosenthal,  a 
beautiful  meadow,  bordered  by  forests  of  the  German  oak, 
very  few  of  whose  Druid  trunks  have  been  left  standing. 
There  are  Swiss  cottages  embowered  in  the  foliage,  where 
every  afternoon  the  social  citizens  assemble  to  drink  their 
coffee  and  enjoy  a  few  hours,  escape  from  the  noisy  and 
dusty  streets.  One  can  walk  for  miles  along  these  lovely 
paths  by  the  side  of  the  velvet  meadows,  or  the  banks  of 
some  shaded  stream.  We  visited  the  little  village  of  Golis, 


LEIPSIC  PUBLISHERS. 


197 


a  short  distance  off,  where,  on  the  second  story  of  a  little 
white  house,  hangs  the  sign,  “  Schiller’s  Room.”  Some  of 
the  Leipsic  literati  have  built  a  stone  arch  over  the  entrance, 
with  the  inscription :  “  Here  dwelt  Schiller  in  1795,  and 
wrote  his  Hymn  to  Joy.”  Everywhere  through  Germany 
the  remembrances  of  Schiller  are  sacred.  In  every  city 
where  he  lived,  they  show  his  dwelling.  They  know  and 
reverence  the  mighty  spirit  who  has  been  among  them. 

Another  interesting  place  in  Leipsic  is  Auerbach’s  Cellar, 
which,  it  is  said,  contains  an  old  manuscript  history  of  Faust, 
from  which  Goethe  derived  the  first  idea  of  his  poem.  He 
used  to  frequent  this  cellar,  and  one  of  his  scenes  in  “  Faust  ” 
is  laid  in  it.  We  looked  down  the  arched  passage  ;  but  not 
wishing  to  purchase  any  wine,  we  could  find  no  pretence  for 
entering.  The  streets  of  Leipsic  abound  with  book  stores, 
and  one  half  the  business  of  the  inhabitants  appears  to  con¬ 
sist  in  printing,  paper-making  and  binding.  The  publishers 
have  a  handsome  Exchange  of  their  own,  and  during  the 
Fairs,  the  amount  of  business  transacted  is  enormous.  The 
establishment  of  Brockhaus  is  contained  in  an  immense  build¬ 
ing,  adjoining  which  stands  his  dwelling,  in  the  midst  of 
magnificent  gardens.  That  of  Tauchnitz  is  not  less  exten¬ 
sive.  I  became  acquainted  at  the  Museum,  with  Friedrich 
Gerstlicker,  a  young  German  author  who  has  been  some 
time  in  America,  and  is  well  versed  in  our  literature.  He  is 
now  engaged  in  translating  American  works,  one  of  which 
— Hoffman  s  “  Wild  Scenes  of  the  Forest  and  Prairie  ” — will 
soon  appear.  In  no  place  in  Germany  have  I  found  more 
knowledge  of  our  country,  her  men  and  her  institutions,  than 
in  Leipsic,  and  as  yet  I  have  seen  few  that  would  be  prefer- 


198 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

•  . 

able  as  a  place  of  residence.  Its  attractions  do  not  consist  in 
its  scenery,  but  in  the  social  and  intellectual  character  of  its 
inhabitants. 

We  are  now  in  the  “  Florence  of  the  Elbe,”  as  the  Sax¬ 
ons  have  christened  Dresden.  Exclusive  of  its  galleries  of 
art,  which  are  scarcely  surpassed  by  any  in  Europe,  Dresden 
charms  the  traveller  by  the  natural  beauty  of  its  environs. 
It  stands  in  a  curve  of  the  Elbe,  in  the  midst  of  green  mea* 
dows,  gardens,  and  fine  old  woods,  with  the  hills  of  Saxony 
sweeping  around  like  an  amphitheatre,  and  the  craggy 
peaks  of  the  Highlands  looking  at  it  from  afar.  The  domes 
and  spires  at  a  distance  give  it  a  rich  Italian  look,  which  is 
heightened  by  the  white  villas,  embowered  in  trees,  gleaming 
on  the  hills  around.  In  the  streets  there  is  no  bustle  of 
business — nothing  of  the  din  and  confusion  of  traffic  which 
mark  most  cities ;  it  seems  like  a  place  for  study  and  quiet 
enjoyment. 

The  railroad  brought  us  in  three  hours  from  Leipsic,  over 
the  eighty  miles  of  plain  that  intervene.  W e  came  from  the 
station  through  the  Neustadt ,  passing  the  Japanese  Palace 
and  the  equestrian  statue  of  Augustus  the  Strong.  The 
magnificent  bridge  over  the  Elbe  was  so  much  injured  by 
the  late  inundation  as  to  be  impassable,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  go  some  distance  up  the  river  bank  and  cross  on  a  bridge 
of  boats.  Next  morning  my  first  search  was  for  the  Picture 
Gallery.  We  set  off  at  random,  and  after  passing  the 
Church  of  Our  Lady,  with  its  lofty  dome  of  solid  stone, 
which  withstood  the  heaviest  bombs  during  the  war  with 
Frederick  the  Great,  came  to  an  open  square,  one  side  of 
which  was  occupied  by  an  old,  brown,  red- roofed  build* 


THE  MADONNA  DI  SAN  SISTO. 


199 


ing,  which  I  at  once  recognized  as  the  object  of  our 
search. 

I  have  just  taken  a  last  look  at  the  gallery  this  morning, 
and  left  it  with  real  regret ;  for,  during  the  two  visits, 
Raphael’s  heavenly  picture  of  the  Madonna  and  Child  had 
so  grown  into  my  love  and  admiration,  that  it  was  painful 
to  think  I  should  never  see  it  again.  There  are  many  more 
which  clung  so  strongly  to  my  imagination,  gratifying  in  the 
highest  degree  the  love  for  the  Beautiful,  that  I  left  them 
with  sadness,  and  the  thought  that  I  would  now  only  have 
the  memory.  I  can  see  the  inspired  eye  and  god-like  brow 
of  the  Jesus-child,  as  if  I  were  still  standing  before  the 
picture,  and  the  sweet,  holy  countenance  of  the  Madonna 
still  looks  upon  me.  Yet,  though  this  picture  is  a  miracle  of 
art,  the  first  glance  filled  me  with  disappointment.  It  has 
somewhat  faded,  during  the  three  hundred  years  that  have 
rolled  away  since  the  hand  of  Raphael  worked  on  the  can¬ 
vas,  and  the  glass  with  which  it  is  covered  for  better 
preservation,  injures  the  effect.  After  I  had  gazed  on  it  a 
while,  every  thought  of  this  vanished.  The  figure  of  the 
Virgin  seemed  to  soar  in  the  air,  and  it  was  difficult  to  think 
the  clouds  were  not  in  motion.  Two  divine  cherubs  look  up 
from  below,  and  in  her  arms  sits  the  sacred  child.  Those 
two  faces  beam  from  the  picture  like  those  of  angels.  The 
dark,  prophetic  eye  and  pure  brow  of  the  young  Jesus 
chain  one  like  a  spell.  There  is  something  more  than 
mortal  in  its  expression — something  in  that  infant  face  which 
indicates  a  power  mightier  than  the  proudest  manhood. 
There  is  no  glory  around  the  head ;  but  the  spirit  which 
shines  from  those  features,  marks  his  divinity.  In  the 


200 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sweet  face  of  the  mother  a  sorrowful  foreboding  mingles 
with  its  tenderness,  as  if  she  knew  the  world  into  which  the 
Saviour  was  born,  and  foresaw  the  path  in  which  he  was  to 
tread.  It  is  a  picture  which  one  can  scarce  look  upon  with' 
out  tears. 

The  plain,  south  of  Dresden,  was  the  scene  of  the  hard- 
fought  battle  between  Napoleon  and  the  allied  armies,  in  1813. 
On  the  heights  above  the  little  village  of  Racknitz,  Moreau 
was  shot  on  the  second  day  of  the  battle.  We  took  a  foot¬ 
path  through  the  meadows,  shaded  by  cherry  trees  in  bloom, 
and  reached  the  spot  after  an  hour’s  walk.  The  monument 
is  simple — a  square  block  of  granite,  surmounted  by  a  hel¬ 
met  and  sword,  with  the  inscription :  “  The  hero  Moreau  fell 
here  by  the  side  of  Alexander ,  August  1  Ith ,  1 813.”  I  gathered, 
as  a  memorial,  a  few  leaves  of  the  oak  which  shades  it. 

By  applying  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time,  we  ob¬ 
tained  admission  to  the  Royal  Library.  It  contains  three 
hundred  thousand  volumes — among  them  the  most  complete 
collection  of  historical  works  in  existence.  Each  hall  is 
devoted  to  a  history  of  a  separate  country,  and  one  large 
room  is  filled  with  that  of  Saxony  alone.  There  is  a  large 
number  of  rare  and  curious  manuscripts,  among  which  are 
old  Greek  works  of  the  seventh  and  eighth  centuries ;  a  Koran 
which  once  belonged  to  the  Sultan  Bajazet ;  the  autographs 
of  Luther  and  Melancthon ;  a  manuscript  volume  with  pen 
and  ink  sketches,  by  Albert  Diirer,  and  the  earliest  specimens 
of  the  invention  of  printing.  Among  the  latter  was  a  book 
published  by  Faust  and  Schaeffer,  at  Mayence,  in  1457. 

We  were  fortunate  in  seeing  the  Grune  Gewolbey  or  Green 
Vaults,  a  collection  of  jewels  and  costly  articles,  unsurpassed 


THE  GREEN  VAULTS 


201 


in  Europe.  Admittance  is  only  granted  to  six  persons  at  a 
time,  who  pay  a  fee  of  two  thalers.  The  customary  way  is 
to  employ  a  Liohnbedienter ,  who  goes  around  from  one  hotel 
to  another,  until  he  has  collected  the  required  number,  when 
he  brings  them  together  and  conducts  them  to  the  keeper, 
who  has  charge  of  the  treasures.  As  our  visit  happened  to 
be  during  the  Pentecost  holidays,  when  every  body  in  Dres¬ 
den  goes  to  the  mountains,  there  was  some  difficulty  in 
effecting  this,  but  after  two  mornings  spent  in  hunting  up 
curious  travellers,  the  servant  finally  conducted  us  in  triumph 
to  the  palace.  The  first  hall  into  which  we  were  ushered, 
contained  works  in  bronze.  They  were  all  small,  and 
chosen  with  regard  to  their  artistical  value.  The  next  room 
contained  statues,  and  vases  covered  with  reliefs,  in  ivory. 
The  most  remarkable  work  was  the  fall  of  Lucifer  and  his 
angels,  containing  ninety-two  figures  in  all,  carved  out  of  a 
single  piece  of  ivory  sixteen  inches  high  !  It  was  the  work 
of  an  Italian  monk,  and  cost  him  many  years  of  hard  labor. 

However  costly  the  contents  of  these  halls,  they  were  only 
an  introduction  to  those  which  followed.  Each  one  exceeded 
the  other  in  splendor  and  costliness.  The  walls  were  covered 
to  the  ceiling  with  rows  of  goblets,  vases,  &c.,  of  polished 
jasper,  agate,  and  lapis  lazuli.  We  saw  two  goblets,  each 
prized  at  six  thousand  thalers,  made  of  gold  and  precious 
stones  ;  also  the  great  pearl  called  the  Spanish  Dwarf,  near¬ 
ly  as  large  as  a  pullet’s  egg  ;  globes  and  vases  cut  entirely 
out  of  the  mountain  crystal ;  magnificent  Nuremberg  watches 
and  clocks,  and  a  great  number  of  figures,  made  ingeniously 
of  rough  pearls  and  diamonds.  The  seventh  hall  contains 

the  coronation  robes  of  Augustus  II.  of  Poland,  and  many 

9* 


202 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


costly  specimens  of  carving  in  wood.  A  clierry-stone  is 
shown  in  a  glass  case,  which  has  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  faces,  all  perfectly  finished,  carved  upon  it !  The  next 
room  we  entered  sent  back  a  glare  of  splendor  that  perfect¬ 
ly  dazzled  us.  It  was  all  gold,  diamond,  ruby,  and  sapphire. 
Every  case  sent  out  such  a  glow  and  glitter  that  it  seemed 
like  a  cage  of  imprisoned  lightnings.  Wherever  the  eye 
turned  it  was  met  by  a  blaze  of  broken  rainbows.  They 
were  there  by  hundreds,  and  every  gem  was  a  fortune. 
We  here  saw  the  largest  known  onyx,  nearly  seven  inches 
long  and  four  inches  broad  !  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
works  is  the  throne  and  court  of  Aurungzebe,  the  Indian 
king,  by  Dinglinger,  a  celebrated  goldsmith  of  the  last  cen¬ 
tury.  It  contains  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  figures,  all  of 
enamelled  gold,  and  each  one  most  perfectly  and  elaborately 
finished.  It  was  purchased  by  Prince  Augustus  for  fifty- 
eight  thousand  thalers,*  which  was  not  an  exorbitant  sum, 
considering  that  the  making  of  it  occupied  Dinglinger  and 
thirteen  workmen  for  seven  years  ! 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  trea¬ 
sures  these  halls  contain.  That  of  the  gold  and  jewels 
alone  must  be  many  millions  of  dollars,  and  the  amount  of 
labor  expended  on  these  toys  of  royalty  is  incredible.  As 
monuments  of  patient  and  untiring  toil,  they  are  interesting  : 
but  it  is  sad  to  think  how  much  labor  and  skill  and  energy 
have  been  wasted,  in  producing  things  which  are  useless  to 
the  world,  and  only  of  secondary  importance  as  works  of  art. 
Perhaps,  however,  if  men  could  be  diverted  by  such  play¬ 
things  from  more  dangerous  games,  it  would  be  all  the  better. 

*  A  Prussian  or  Saxon  thaler  is  about  70  cts 


CHAPTER  XX. 

RAMBLES  IN  THE  SAXON  SWITZERLAND. 

Farewell  to  Dresden — The  King  of  Saxony — Beauty  of  the  Country— Sunken  Glens— 
The  Uttewalder  Grund — Precipice  of  the  Bastei — Effects  of  the  Inundation — The 
Fortress  of  Konigstein — Anecdote  of  a  Baron — A  Mountain  Yalley — A  Cascade 
Show — The  Kuhstall — The  Little  Winterberg — Cloudy  Landscapes — The  Prebisch- 
thor — Entering  Austria — Bohemian  Scenery — The  Battle-Field  of  Kulm — The 
Baths  of  Teplitz — Plains  of  the  Elbe — Distant  Yiew  of  Prague. 

After  four  days’  sojourn  in  Dresden  we  shouldered  our 
knapsacks,  not  to  be  laid  down  again  until  we  reached 
Prague.  We  were  elated  with  the  prospect  of  getting 
among  the  hills  again,  and  we  heeded  not  the  frequent 
showers  which  had  dampened  the  enjoyment  of  the  Pente¬ 
cost  holidays  for  the  good  citizens  of  Dresden,  and  might 
spoil  our  own.  So  we  trudged  gaily  along  the  road  to 
Pillnitz,  and  waved  an  adieu  to  the  domes  behind  us  as  the 
forest  shut  them  out  from  view.  After  two  hours’  walk  the 
road  led  down  to  the  Elbe,  where  we  crossed  in  a  ferry¬ 
boat  to  Pillnitz,  the  seat  of  a  handsome  palace  and  gardens, 
belonging  to  the  King  of  Saxony.  He  happened  to  be  there 
at  the  time,  on  an  afternoon  excursion  from  Dresden  ;  but 


204 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


as  we  had  seen  him  before,  in  the  latter  place,  we  passed 
directly  on,  only  pausing  to  admire  the  flower-beds  in  the 
palace  court.  The  King  is  a  tall,  benevolent  looking  man, 
and  is  apparently  much  liked  by  his  people.  As  far  as  I 
have  yet  seen,  Saxony  is  a  prosperous  and  happy  country. 
The  people  are  noted  all  over  Germany  for  their  honest, 
social  character,  which  is  written  on  their  cheerful,  open 
countenances.  On  our  entrance  into  the  Saxon  Switzerland, 
at  Pillnitz,  we  were  delighted  with  the  neatness  and  home¬ 
like  appearance  of  the  villages.  Every  body  greeted  us ; 
if  we  asked  for  information,  they  gave  it  cheerfully.  I  felt 
willing  to  say,  in  the  words  of  an  old  ballad,  which  I  believe 
Longfellow  has  translated : 

“  The  fairest  kingdom  on  this  earth, 

It  is  the  Saxon  land!” 

Keeping  the  left  bank  of  the  Elbe,  we  passed  over  mea¬ 
dows  purple  with  the  tri-colored  violet,  and  every  little  bank 
was  bright  with  cowslips.  At  length  the  path  led  down  into 
a  cleft  or  ravine  filled  with  trees,  whose  tops  were  on  a  level 
wflth  the  country  around.  This  is  a  peculiar  feature  of 
Saxon  scenery.  There  are  many  of  these  clefts,  some  of 
which  are  several  hundred  feet  deep,  having  walls  of  per¬ 
pendicular  rock,  in  the  crevices  of  which  the  mountain  pine 
roots  itself  and  grows  to  a  tolerable  height  without  any 
apparent  soil  to  keep  it  alive.  We  descended  by  a  foot-path 
into  this  ravine,  called  the  Liebethaler  Grund.  It  is  wider 
than  many  of  the  others,  having  room  enough  for  a  consider¬ 
able  stream  and  several  mills.  The  sides  are  of  sandstone 
rock,  quite  perpendicular.  As  we  proceeded,  it  grew  nar- 


THE  UTTEWALDER  GRUND. 


205 


rower  and  deeper,  while  the  trees  covering  its  sides  and 
edges  nearly  shut  out  the  sky.  An  hour’s  walk  brought  us 
to  the  end,  where  we  ascended  gradually  to  the  upper  level 
again. 

After  passing  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Uttewalde, 
a  short  distance  further,  we  set  out  early  in  the  morning  for 
the  Bastei,  a  lofty  precipice  on  the  Elbe.  The  way  led  us 
directly  through  the  Uttewalder  Grund,  the  most  remarkable 
of  all  these  chasms.  We  went  down  by  rocky  steps  into  its 
depths,  which  in  the  early  morning  were,  very  cold.  Water 
dripped  from  the  rocks,  which,  but  a  few  feet  anart.  rose  far 
above  us,  and  a  little  rill  made  its  way  along  the  bottom, 
into  which  the  sun  has  never  shone.  Heavy  masses  of  rock, 
which  had  tumbled  down  from  the  sides,  encumbered  the 
way,  and  tall  pine  trees  sprang  from  every  cleft.  In  one 
place  the  defile  is  only  four  feet  wide,  and  a  large  mass  of 
rock,  fallen  from  above,  has  lodged  near  the  bottom,  making 
a  low  arch,  under  which  the  traveller  has  to  creep.  After 
going  under  two  or  three  arches  of  this  kind,  the  defile 
widened,  and  an  arrow  cut  upon  a  rock  directed  us  to  a  side 
path,  which  branched  off  into  the  mountains.  Here  the 
masses  of  stone  immediately  assumed  another  form.  They 
projected  like  shelves  sometimes  as  much  as  twenty  feet 
from  the  perpendicular  walls,  and  hung  over  the  way, 
threatening  to  break  off  every  moment.  I  felt  glad  wdien 
we  had  passed  under  them.  Then,  as  we  ascended  further, 
we  saw  pillars  of  rock  separated  entirely  from  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  and  rising  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  with  trees 
growing  on  their  summits.  They  stood  there  gray  and 
time-worn,  like  the  ruins  of  a  Titan  temple. 


20  G 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  path  finally  led  us  out  into  the  forest  and  through 
the  clustering  pine  trees,  to  the  summit  of  the  Bastei.  An 
inn  has  been  erected  in  the  woods,  and  an  iron  balustrade 
placed  around  the  rock.  Protected  by  this,  we  advanced  to 
the  end  of  the  precipice  and  looked  down  on  the  swift  Elbe, 
more  than  seven  hundred  feet  below !  Opposite,  through 
the  blue  mists  of  morning,  rose  Konigstein,  crowned  with  an 
impregnable  fortress,  and  the  crags  of  Lilienstein,  with  a  fine 
forest  around  their  base,  frowned  from  the  left  bank.  On 
both  sides  were  horrible  precipices  of  gray  rock,  with  rugged 
trees  hanging  from  the  crevices.  A  hill  rising  on  one  side 
of  the  Bastei,  terminates  suddenly  a  short  distance  from  it, 
in  an  abrupt  precipice.  In  the  intervening  space  stand 
three  or  four  of  those  rock-columns,  several  hundred  feet 
high,  with  their  tops  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  Bastei.  A 
wooden  bridge  has  been  thrown  across  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  the  traveller  passes  over  it,  looking  on  the  trees 

and  rocks  far  below  him,  until  he  reaches  the  hill,  where  a 

# 

steep  zigzag  path  takes  him  down  to  the  Elbe. 

We  crossed  the  river  for  the  fourth  time  at  the  foot  of  the 
Bastei,  and  walked  along  its  right  bank  towards  Konigstein. 
The  injury  caused  by  the  inundation  was  everywhere  apparent. 
The  receding  flood  had  left  a  deposit  of  sand,  in  many  places 
several  feet  deep,  on  the  rich  meadows,  so  that  the  labor  of 
years  will  be  requisite  to  remove  it  and  restore  the  land  to 
an  arable  condition.  Even  the  farm-houses  on  the  hillside, 
some  distance  from  the  river,  had  been  reached,  and  the 
long  grass  hung  in  the  highest  branches  of  the  fruit  trees. 
The  people  were  at  work  trying  to  repair  the  injuries,  but 
they  will  fall  heavily  upon  the  poorer  classes. 


207 


THE  FORTRESS  OF  KONIGSTEIN, 

The  mountain  of  Konigstein  is  twelve  hundred  feet  high. 
A  precipice,  varying  from  one  to  three  hundred  feet  in 
height,  runs  entirely  round  the  summit,  which  is  flat,  and  a 
mile  and  a  half  in  circumference.  This  has  been  converted  into 
a  fortress,  whose  natural  advantages  make  it  entirely  impreg¬ 
nable.  During  the  Thirty  Years’  War  and  the  late  war 
with  Napoleon,  it  was  the  only  place  in  Saxony  unoccupied 
by  the  enemy.  Hence  it  is  used  as  a  depository  for  the 
archives  and  royal  treasures,  in  times  of  danger.  By  giving 
up  our  passports  at  the  door,  we  received  permission  to 
enter,  and  were  furnished  with  a  guide  around  the  battle¬ 
ments.  There  is  quite  a  little  village  on  the  summit,  with 
gardens,  fields,  and  a  wood  of  considerable  size.  The  only 
entrance  is  by  a  road  cut  through  the  rock,  which  is  strongly 
guarded.  A  well  seven  hundred  feet  deep  supplies  the 
fortress  with  water,  and  there  are  storehouses  sufficient  to 
hold  supplies  for  many  years.  The  view  from  the  ramparts 
is  glorious,  embracing  the  whole  of  the  Saxon  Highlands,  as 
far  as  the  lofty  Schneeberg  in  Bohemia.  On  the  other  side, 
the  eye  follows  the  windings  of  the  Elbe,  as  far  as  the  spires 
of  Dresden.  Lilienstein,  a  mountain  of  exactly  similar  for¬ 
mation,  but  somewhat  higher,  stands  directly  opposite.  On 
walking  around  the  ramparts,  the  guide  pointed  out  a  little 
square  tower  standing  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  with  a 
ledge,  about  two  feet  wide,  running  around  it,  just  below 
the  windows.  He  said,  that  during  the  reign  of  Augustus 
the  Strong,  a  baron  attached  to  his  court,  rose  in  his  sleep 
after  a  night  of  revelry  and  stepping  out  of  the  window, 
stretched  himself  at  full  length  along  the  ledge.  A  guard 
fortunately  observed  his  situation  and  informed  Augustus 


208 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  it,  who  had  him  bound  and  secured  with  cords,  and  then 
awakened  by  music.  It  was  a  good  lesson,  and  one  which 
no  doubt  sobered  him  for  the  future. 

Passing  through  the  little  city  of  Konigstein,  we  walked 
on  to  Schandau,  the  capital  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland,  situ, 
ated  on  the  left  bank.  It  had  sustained  great  damage  from 
the  flood,  the  whole  place  having  been  literally  under  water. 
Her.e  we  turned  up  a  narrow  valley  which  led  to  the  Kuh- 
stall,  some  eight  miles  distant.  The  mountain  sides,  as  usual, 
were  of  steep  gray  rock,  but  wide  enough  apart  to  give  room 
to  some  lovely  meadows,  with  here  and  there  a  rustic  cottage. 
The  mountain  maidens,  in  their  bright  red  dresses,  with  a 
fanciful  scarf  bound  around  the  head,  made  a  romantic  addi¬ 
tion  to  the  scene.  There  were  some  quiet  secluded  nooks, 
where  the  light  of  day  stole  in  dimly  through  the  thick  foli¬ 
age  above  and  the  wild  stream  rushed  less  boisterously  over 
the  rocks.  We  sat  down  to  rest  in  one  of  these  cool  retreats, 
and  made  the  glen  ring  with  a  cheer  for  America. 

As  we  advanced  further  into  the  hills  the  way  became 

darker  and  wilder.  We  heard  the  sound  of  falling  water  in 

a  little  dell  on  one  side,  and  going  nearer,  saw  a  picturesque 

fall  of  about  fifteen  feet.  Great  masses  of  black  rock  were 

piled  together,  over  which  the  mountain-stream  fell  in  a 

snowy  sheet.  The  pines  above  and  around  grew  so  thick 

and  close,  that  not  a  sunbeam  could  enter,  and  a  mysterious 

twilight  pervaded  the  spot.  In  Greece  it  would  have  been 
« 

chosen  for  an  oracle.  I  have  seen,  somewhere,  a  picture  of 
the  Spirit  of  Poetry,  sitting  beside  just  such  a  cataract,  and 
truly  the  nymph  could  choose  no  more  appropriate  dwelling. 
But  alas  for  sentiment !  while  we  were  admiring  its  pic* 


THE  KUHSTALL. 


209 


turesque  beauty,  we  did  not  notice  a  man  who  came  from  a 
near  hut  and  went  up  behind  the  rocks.  All  at  once  there 
was  a  roar  of  water,  and  a  strong  torrent  came  pouring  down. 
I  looked  up,  and  lo !  there  he  stood,  with  a  gate  in  his  hand 
which  had  held  the  water  imprisoned,  looking  down  at  us  to 
observe  our  admiration.  I  ordered  him  to  shut  it  up  again, 
and  he  rejoined  us  in  haste,  lest  he  should  lose  his  fee  for 
the  sight. 

Our  road  now  left  the  valley  and  ascended  through  a  forest 
to  the  Kuhstall,  (Cow’s  Stable,)  which  we  came  upon  at  once. 
It  is  a  remarkable  natural  arch,  through  a  rocky  wall  or 
rampart,  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  thick.  Passing  through, 
we  came  at  the  other  end  to  the  edge  of  a  very  deep  preci¬ 
pice,  while  the  rock  towered  abruptly  far  above.  Below 
us  lay  a  deep  circular  valley,  two  miles  in  diameter,  and  sur¬ 
rounded  on  every  side  by  ranges  of  crags,  such  as  we  saw 
on  the  Bastei.  It  was  entirely  covered  with  a  pine  forest, 
and  there  only  appeared  to  be  two  or  three  narrow  defiles 
which  gave  it  a  communication  with  the  world.  The  top  of 
the  Kuhstall  can  be  reached  by  a  path  which  runs  up  through 

i 

a  split  in  the  rock,  directly  to  the  summit.  It  is  just  wide 
enough  for  one  person  to  squeeze  himself  through ;  pieces 
of  wood  have  been  fastened  in  as  steps,  and  the  rocks  in 
many  places  close  completely  above.  The  place  derives  its 
name  from  having  been  used  by  the  mountaineers  as  a  hiding- 
place  for  their  cattle  in  time  of  war. 

Next  morning  we  descended  by  another  crevice  in  the 
rock  to  the  lonely  valley,  which  we  crossed,  and  climbed 
the  Little  Winterberg  on  the  opposite  side.  There  is  a  wide 
and  rugged  view  from  a  tower  on  a  precipitous  rock  near  the 


210 


VIEWS  A -FOOT. 


summit,  erected  to  commemorate  the  escape  of  Prince 
Augustus  of  Saxony,  who,  being  pursued  by  a  mad  stag, 
rescued  himself  by  a  lucky  blow  when  on  the  very  brink. 
Among  the  many  wild  valleys  that  lay  between  the  hills, 
we  saw  scarcely  one  without  the  peculiar  rocky  formation 
wdiich  gives  to  Saxon  scenery  its  most  interesting  character. 
They  resemble  the  remains  of  some  mighty  work  of  art, 
rather  than  one  of  the  thousand  varied  forms  in  which 
Nature  delights  to  clothe  herself 

The  Great  Winterberg,  which  is  reached  by  another  hour’s 
walk  along  an  elevated  ridge,  is  the  highest  of  the  moun¬ 
tains,  celebrated  for  the  grand  view  from  its  summit.  We 
found  the  handsome  Swiss  hotel  recently  built  there,  full  of 
tourists  who  had  come  to  enjoy  the  scene,  but  the  morning 
clouds  hid  6very  thing.  We  ascended  the  tower,  and  look¬ 
ing  "between  them  as  they  rolled  by,  caught  glimpses  of  the 
broad  landscape  below.  The  Giant’s  Mountains  in  Silesia 
were  hidden  by  the  mist,  but  sometimes  when  the  wind 
freshened,  we  could  see  beyond  the  Elbe  into  Bohemian 
Switzerland,  where  the  long  Schneeberg  rose  conspicuous 
above  the  smaller  mountains.  Leaving  the  other  travellers 
to  wait  at  their  leisure  for  clearer  weather,  we  set  off  for 
the  Prebischthor,  in  company  with  two  or  three  students 
from  the  Polytechnic  School  in  Dresden.  An  hour’s  walk 
over  high  hills,  whose  forest  clothing  had  been  swept  off  by 
fire  a  few  years  before,  brought  us  to  the  spot. 

The  Prebischthor  is  a  natural  arch,  ninety  feet  high,  in  a 
wall  of  rock  which  projects  at  right  angles  from  the  precipi¬ 
tous  side  of  the  mountain.  A  narrow  path  leads  over  the 
top  of  the  arch  to  the  end  of  the  rock,  where,  protected  by 


THE  AUSTRIAN  FRONTIER. 


211 


a  railing,  the  traveller  seems  to  hang  in  the  air.  The  valley 
is  far  below  him — mountains  rise  up  on  either  side — and  only 
the  narrow  bridge  connects  him  with  the  earth.  We 
descended  by  a  wooden  staircase  to  the  bottom  of  the  arch, 
near  which  a  rustic  inn  is  built  against  the  rock,  and  thence 
into  the  valley  below,  which  we  followed  through  rude  and 
lonely  scenery,  to  Hirnischkretschen  (!)  on  the  Elbe. 

Crossing  the  river  again  for  the  sixth  and  last  time,  we 
followed  the  right  bank  to  Neidergrund,  the  first  Austrian 
village.  Here  our  passports  were  vised  for  Prague,  and  we 
were  allowed  to  proceed  without  any  examination  of  bag¬ 
gage.  I  noticed  a  manifest  change  in  our  fellow  travellers 
the  moment  we  crossed  the  border.  They  appeared  anxious 
and  careful ;  if  we  happened  to  speak  of  the  state  of  the 
country,  they  always  looked  around  to  see  if  anybody  was 
near,  and  if  we  even  passed  a  workman  on  the  road,  quickly 
changed  to  some  other  subject.  They  spoke  much  of  the 
jealous  strictness  of  the  government,  and  from  what  I  heard 
from  Austrians  themselves,  there  may  have  been  ground 
for  their  cautiousness.  We  walked  seven  or  eight  miles 
along  the  bank  of  the  Elbe,  to  Tetschen,  there  left  our  com¬ 
panions  and  took  the  road  to  Teplitz.  I  was  pleasantly  dis¬ 
appointed  on  entering  Bohemia.  Instead  of  a  dull,  uninter¬ 
esting  country,  as  I  expected,  it  is  a  land  full  of  the  most 
lovely  scenery.  There  is  every  tiling  which  can  gratify 
the  eye — high  blue  mountains,  valleys  of  the  sweetest  pas¬ 
toral  aspect,  and  romantic  old  ruins.  The  very  name  of 
Bohemia  is  associated  with  wild  and  wonderful  legends,  of 
the  rude  barbaric  ages.  Even  the  cliivalric  tales  of  the 
feudal  times  of  Germany  grow  tame  beside  these  earlier  and 


212 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


darker  histories.  The  fallen  fortresses  of  the  Rhine,  or  the 
robber-castles  of  the  Odenwald,  had  not  for  me  so  exciting 
an  interest  as  the  shapeless  ruins  cumbering  these  lonely 
mountains.  The  civilized  Saxon  race  was  left  behind  ;  I 
saw  around  me  the  features  and  heard  the  language  of  one 
of  those  rude  Sclavonic  tribes,  whose  original  home  was  on 
the  vast  steppes  of  Central  Asia.  I  have  rarely  enjoyed 
travelling  more  than  our  first  two  days’  journey  towards 
Prague.  The  range  of  the  Erzgebirge  ran  along  on  our 
right ;  the  snow  still  lay  in  patches  upon  it,  but  the  valleys 
between,  with  their  little  clusters  of  white  cottages,  were 
green  and  beautiful. 

About  six  miles  before  reaching  Teplitz,  we  passed  Kulm, 
the  great  battle-field,  which  in  a  measure  decided  the  fate  of 
Napoleon.  He  sent  Yandamme  with  40,000  men  to  attack 
the  allies  before  they  could  unite  their  forces,  and  thus  effect 
their  complete  destruction.  Only  the  almost  despairing 
bravery  of  the  Russian  guards  under  Ostermann,  who  held 
him  in  check  until  the  allied  troops  united,  defeated  Napo¬ 
leon’s  design.  At  the  junction  of  the  roads,  where  the  fight¬ 
ing  was  hottest,  the  Austrians  have  erected  a  monument  to 
one  of  their  generals.  Not  far  from  it  is  that  of  Prussia, 
simple  and  tasteful.  A  woody  hill  near,  with  the  little  vil¬ 
lage  of  Kulm  at  its  foot,  was  the  station  occupied  by 
Vandamme  at  the  commencement  of  the  battle.  There  is 
now  a  beautiful  chapel  on  its  summit,  which  can  be  seen  far 
and  wide.  A  little  distance  further,  the  Emperor  of  Russia 
has  erected  a  third  monument  to  the  memory  of  the  Rus¬ 
sians  who  fell.  Four  lions  rest  on  the  base  of  the  pedestal, 
and  on  the  top  of  the  shaft,  forty-five  feet  high,  Victory  is 


THE  BATHS  OF  TEPLITZ. 


213 


represented  as  engraving  the  date,  “Aug.  30,  1813, ’Von  a 
shield.  The  dark,  pine-covered  mountains  on  the  right, 
overlook  the  whole  field  and  the  valley  of  Teplitz ;  Napo¬ 
leon  rode  along  their  crests  several  days  after  the  battle,  to 
witness  the  scene  of  his  defeat. 

Teplitz  lies  in  a  lovely  valley,  several  miles  wide,  bounded 
by  the  Bohemian  mountains  on  one  side,  and  the  Erzgebirge 
on  the  other.  One  straggling  peak  is  crowned  with  a  pic¬ 
turesque  ruin,  at  whose  foot  the  spacious  bath-buildings  lie 
half  hidden  in  foliage.  As  we  walked  down  the  principal 
street,  I  noticed  that  nearly  every  house  was  a  hotel ;  in 
summer  the  usual  average  of  visitors  is  five  thousand.  The 
waters  resemble  those  of  the  celebrated  Carlsbad ;  they  are 
warm,  and  particularly  efficacious  in  rheumatism  and  diseases 
of  like  character.  After  leaving  Teplitz,  the  road  turned 
to  the  east,  towards  a  lofty  mountain,  which  we  had  seen 
the  morning  before.  The  peasants,  as  they  passed  by,  salut¬ 
ed  us  with  “  Christ  greet  you  !” 

We  stopped  for  the  night  at  the  foot  of  the  peak  called 
the  Milleschauer,  and  must  have  ascended  nearly  2,000  feet, 
for  we  had  a  wide  view  the  next  morning,  although  the  mists 
and  clouds  hid  the  half  of  it.  The  weather  being  so  un¬ 
favorable,  we  decided  not  to  ascend,  and  taking  leave  of  the 
Jena  student  who  came  there  for  that  purpose,  descended 
through  green  fields  and  orchards  snowy  with  blossoms,  to 
Lobositz,  on  the  Elbe.  Here  we  reached  the  plains  again, 
where  every  thing  wore  the  luxuriance  of  summer,  and  it 
was  a  pleasant  change  from  the  dark  and  rough  scenery  we 
had  left.  The  road  passed  through  Theresienstadt,  the  for¬ 
tress  of  Northern  Bohemia.  The  little  city  is  surrounded 


214 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


by  a  double  wall  and  moat,  which  can  be  filled  with  water, 
rendering  it  almost  impregnable.  In  the  morning  we  were 
ferried  over  the  Moldau,  and  after  journeying  nearly  all  day 
across  barren,  elevated  plains,  saw  late  in  the  afternoon  the 
sixty-seven  spires  of  Prague  below  us !  The  dark  clouds 
which  hung  over  the  hills,  gave  us  little  time  to  look  upon 
the  singular  scene ;  and  we  were  soon  comfortably  settled 
in  the  half-barbaric,  half- Asiatic  city,  with  a  pleasant  pros¬ 
pect  of  seeing  its  wonders  on  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


SCENES  IN  PRAGUE. 

Impressions  of  Prague — Past  and  Present — The  Moldau  Bridge — Johannes  of  Nepo- 
muck — A  Day  Dream — The  Cathedral — The  Shrine  of  Nepomuck — Jesuitical 
Music — An  Attack  of  Jews — The  Old  Hebrew  Cemetery. 

Prague,  May ,  1845. 

I  feel  as  if  out  of  the  world  in  this  strange,  fantastic,  yet 
beautiful  old  city.  We  have  been  rambling  all  morning 
through  its  winding  streets,  stopping  sometimes  at  a  church 
to  see  the  dusty  tombs  and  shrines,  or  to  hear  the  fine  music 
which  accompanies  the  morning  mass.  I  have  seen  no  city 
yet  which  so  forcibly  reminds  me  of  the  Past.  The  lan¬ 
guage  adds  to  the  illusion.  Three-fourths  of  the  people  in 
the  streets  speak  Bohemian,  and  many  of  the  signs  are 
written  in  the  same  tongue,  which  has  no  resemblance  to 
German.  The  palace  of  the  Bohemian  kings  still  looks 
down  on  the  city  from  the  western  heights,  and  their  tombs 
stand  in  the  Cathedral  of  the  holy  Johannes.  When  one 
has  climbed  the  stone  steps  leading  to  the  fortress,  there  is  a 
glorious  prospect  before  him.  Prague  with  her  spires  and 


216 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


towers,  lies  in  the  valley  below,  through  which  curves  the 
Moldau  around  its  green  islands  until  it  disappears  among 
the  northern  hills.  The  fantastic  Byzantine  architecture  of 
many  of  the  churches  and  towers,  gives  the  place  a  peculiar 
oriental  appearance.  They  seem  to  have  been  transported 
hither  from  Persia  or  Tartary.  Its  streets  are  full  of 
palaces,  fallen  and  inhabited  now  by  the  poorer  classes.  Its 
famous  University,  which  once  boasted  forty  thousand  stu¬ 
dents,  has  long  since  ceased  to  exist.  In  a  word,  it  is,  like 
Venice,  a  fallen  city  ;  though,  as  in  Venice,  the  improving 
spirit  of  the  age  is  beginning  to  give  it  a  little  life,  and  to 
send  a  quicker  stream  through  its  narrow  and  winding 
arteries.  The  railroad  which,  joining  that  to  Brunn,  con¬ 
nects  it  with  Vienna,  will  be  finished  this  year ;  and  in 
anticipation  of  the  ii^cr^ased  business  which  will  follow, 
speculators  are  building  enormous  hotels  in  the  suburbs  and 
tearing  down  the  old  buildings  to  give  place  to  more 
splendid  edifices.  These  operations,  and  the  chain  bridge 
which  spans  the  Moldau  towards  the  southern  end  of  the 
city,  are  the  only  things  which  are  modern — everything 
else  is  old,  strange  and  solemn. 

Having  first  determined  a  few  of  the  principal  points,  we 
wandered  through  its  difficult  labyrinths,  seeking  every  place 
of  note  or  interest.  Beaching  the  bridge  at  last,  we  decided 
to  cross  and  ascend  to  the  Hradscliin — the  palace  of  the  Bohe¬ 
mian  kings.  The  bridge  was  commenced  in  1357,  and  was 
not  finished  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years.  Such  was  the  way 
the  old  Germans  did  their  work,  and  they  made  a  structure 
which  will  last  a  thousand  years  longer.  Every  pier  is  sur¬ 
mounted  with  groups  of  saints  and  martyrs,  all  so  worn  and 


THE  MOLD AU  BRIDGE. 


217 


weather-beaten,  that  there  is  little  left  of  their  beauty,  if 
they  ever  had  any.  The  most  important  of  them,  at  least 
to  Bohemians,  is  that  of  the  holy  “Johannes  of  Nepomuck,” 
now  considered  as  the  patron-saint  of  the  land.  Many  cen¬ 
turies  ago  he  was  a  priest  whom  one  of  the  kings  threw  from 
the  bridge  into  the  Moldau,  because  he  refused  to  reveal  to 
him  what  the  queen  confessed.  The  legend  says  the  body 
swam  for  some  time  on  the  river,  with  five  stars  around  its 
head.  The  16th  of  May,  the  day  before  our  arrival,  was 
that  set  apart  for  his  particular  honor ;  the  statue  on  the 
bridge  was  covered  with  an  arch  of  green  boughs  and  flow¬ 
ers,  and  the  shrine  lighted  with  burning  tapers.  A  railing 
was  erected  around  it,  near  which  numbers  of  the  believers 
were  kneeling.  The  bridge  was  covered  with  passers-by, 
who  all  took  their  hats  off  until  they  had  passed.  Had  it 
been  a  place  of  worship,  the  act  would  have  been  natural 
and  appropriate,  but  to  uncover  before  a  statue  seemed  to  us 
too  much  like  idolatry,  and  we  ventured  over  without  doing 
it.  A  few  years  ago  it  might  have  been  dangerous,  but  now 
we  only  met  with  scowling  looks.  There  are  many  such 
shrines  and  statues  through  the  city,  and  I  noticed  that  the 
people  always  removed  their  hats  and  crossed  themselves  in 
passing.  On  the  hill  above  the  western  end  of  the  city, 
stands  a  chapel  on  the  spot  where  the  Bavarians  put  an  end 
to  Protestantism  in  Bohemia  by  ike  sword ,  and  the  deluded 
peasantry  of  the  land  make  pilgrimages  t3  this  spot,  as  if  it 
were  rendered  holy  by  an  act  over  which  Religion  weeps ! 

Ascending  the  broad  flight  of  steps  to  the  Hradscliin,  I 
paused  a  moment  to  gaze  upon  the  scene  below.  A  slight 
blue  haze  hung  over  the  clustering  towers,  and  the  city  glim- 


218 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


mered  through  it,  like  a  city  seen  in  a  dream.  It  was  well 
that  it  should  so  appear,  for  not  less  dim  and  misty  are  the 
memories  that  haunt  its  walls.  There  was  no  need  of  a 
magician’s  wand  to  bid  that  light  cloud  shadow  forth  the 
forms  of  other  times.  They  came  uncalled  for,  even  by  fancy. 
Far,  far  back  in  the  past,  I  saw  the  warrior-princess  who 
founded  the  kingly  city — the  renowned  Libussa,  whose 
prowess  and  talent  inspired  the  women  of  Bohemia  to  rise 
at  her  death  and  storm  the  land,  that  their  sex  might  rule 
where  it  obeyed  before.  On  the  mountain  opposite  once 
stood  the  palace  of  the  bloody  Wlaska,  who  reigned  with 
her  Amazon  band  for  seven  years  over  half  Bohemia.  Those 
streets  below  had  echoed  with  the  fiery  words  of  Huss, 
the  castle  of  whose  follower — the  blind  Ziska,  who  met 
and  defeated  the  armies  of  the  German  Empire — moulders 
on  the  mountain  above.  Many  a  year  of  war  and  tempest 

t 

has  passed  over  the  scene.  The  hills  around  have  borne  the 
armies  of  Wallenstein  and  Frederick  the  Great ;  the  war-cries 
of  Bavaria,  Sweden  and  Poland  have  echoed  in  the  valley, 
and  the  glare  of  the  midnight  cannon  or  the  flames  of  burning 
palaces  have  often  reddened  the  blood-dyed  waters  of  the 
Moldau ! 

But  this  was  a  day-dream.  The  throng  of  people  coming 
up  the  steps  awaked  me.  We  turned  and  followed  the 
crowd  through  several  spacious  courts,  until  we  reached  the 
Cathedral,  which  is  magnificent  in  the  extreme.  The  dark 
Gothic  pillars,  whose  arches  unite  high  above,  are  surround¬ 
ed  with  gilded  monuments  and  shrines,  and  the  side  chapels 
are  rich  in  elaborate  decorations.  A  priest  was  speaking 
from  a  pulpit  in  the  centre,  in  the  Bohemian  language, 


THE  BHRINE  OF  NEPOMUCK. 


219 


which  not  being  the  most  intelligible,  I  went  to  the  other 
end  to  see  the  shrine  of  the  holy  Johannes  of  Nepomuck. 
It  stands  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  side  aisles,  and  is  composed 
of  a  mass  of  gorgeous  silver  ornaments.  At  a  little  distance, 
on  each  side,  hang  four  massive  lamps  of  silver,  constantly 
burning.  The  pyramid  of  statues,  of  the  same  precious 
metal,  has  at  each  corner  a  richly  carved  urn,  three  feet 
high,  with  a  crimson  lamp  burning  at  the  top.  Above,  four 
silver  angels,  the  size  of  life,  are  suspended  in  the  air,  hold¬ 
ing  up  the  corners  of  a  splendid  drapery  of  crimson  and 
gold.  If  these  figures  were  melted  down  and  distributed 
among  the  poor  and  miserable  people  who  inhabit  Bohemia, 
they  would  then  be  angels  indeed,  bringing  happiness  and 
blessing  to  many  a  ruined  home-altar.  In  the  same  chapel 
is  the  splendid  burial-place  of  the  Bohemian  kings,  of  gilded 
marble  and  alabaster.  On  our  return  to  the  bridge,  we 
stepped  into  the  St.  Nicholas  Church,  which  was  built  by 
the  J esuits.  The  interior  has  a  rich  effect,  its  colors  being 
only  brown  and  gold.  The  music  chained  me  there  a  long 
time.  There  was  a  grand  organ,  assisted  by  a  full  orchestra 
and  large  choir  of  singers.  At  every  sound  of  the  priest’s 
bell,  the  flourish  of  trumpets  and  deep  roll  of  the  drums 
filled  the  dome  with  a  burst  of  quivering  sound,  while  the 
giant  pipes  of  the  organ  breathed  out  their  full  harmony 
and  the  very  air  shook  under  the  peal.  It  was  a  triumphal 
strain ;  the  soul  became  filled  with  thoughts  of  power  and 
glory,  and  the  senses  were  merged  into  one  dim,  indistinct 
emotion  of  rapture.  I  could  almost  forgive  the  Jesuits  the 
superstition  and  bigotry  they  have  planted  in  the  minds  of 
men,  for  the  indescribable  enjoyment  that  music  gave. 


220 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


When  it  ceased,  we  went  out  to  the  world  again,  and  the 
recollection  of  it  is  now  but  a  dream  —  a  dream  whose 
influence  will  last  longer  than  many  more  palpable 
reality. 

There  is  another  part  of  Prague  which  is  not  less  interest¬ 
ing,  though  much  less  poetical — the  Jews’  City.  In  our 
rambles  we  got  into  it  before  we  were  aware,  but  hurried 
immediately  out  of  it  again,  perfectly  satisfied  with  one  visit. 
We  entered  first  a  dark,  narrow  street,  whose  sides  were 
lined  with  booths  of  old  clothes  and  second-hand  articles. 
A  sharp-featured  old  woman  thrust  a  coat  before  my  face, 
exclaiming,  “  Herr,  buy  a  fine  coat !”  Instantly  a  man  as¬ 
sailed  me  on  the  other  side,  “  Here  are  vests  !  pantaloons  ! 
shirts  !”  I  broke  loose  from  them  and  ran  on,  but  it  only 
became  worse.  One  seized  me  by  the  arm,  crying,  “  Lie - 
her  Herr,  buy  some  stockings  !”  and  another  grasped  my 
coat ;  “  Hats,  Herr  !  hats  !  buy  something,  or  sell  7ne  some¬ 
thing  V 9  I  rushed  desperately  on,  shouting  “  no  !  no!” 
with  all  my  might,  and  finally  got  safely  through.  My 
friend  having  escaped  their  clutches  also,  we  found  our  way 
to  the  old  Jewish  Cemetery.  It  stands  in  the  middle  of  the 
city,  and  has  not  been  used  for  a  hundred  years.  We 
could  find  no  entrance,  but  by  climbing  upon  the  ruins  of 
an  old  house  near,  I  looked  over  the  wall.  A  cold  shudder 
crept  over  me,  to  think  that  warm,  joyous  Life,  as  I  then  felt 
it,  should  grow  chill  and  pass  back  to  clay  in  such  a  foul  char¬ 
nel-house.  Large  mounds  of  earth,  covered  with  black,  de¬ 
caying  grave-stones,  which  were  almost  hidden  under  the 
weeds  and  rank  grass,  filled  the  enclosure.  A  few  dark, 
crooked  alder-trees  grew  among  the  crumbling  tombs,  and 


I 


THE  HEBREW  CEMETERY 


221 


gave  the  scene  an  air  of  gloom  and  desolation,  almost  fear¬ 
ful.  The  dust  of  many  a  generation  lies  under  these  mould¬ 
ering  stones  ;  they  now  scarcely  occupy  a  thought  in  the 
minds  of  the  living  ;  and  yet  the  present  race  toils  and  seeks 
for  wealth  alone,  that  it  may  pass  away  and  leave  nothing 
behind — not  even  a  memory  for  that  which  will  follow  ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

JOURNEY  THROUGH  BOHEMIA  AND  MORAVIA. 

The  Scenery  of  Bohemia — The  Inhabitants — Wayside  Shrines — Disgusting  Imager- 
Devotion  of  the  People— Iglau— The  Peasant  Girls— Bohemian  Teams— A  Religious 
Pageant— A  New  Companion— His  Astonishment— Lodging  with  the  Lancers— The 
City  of  Znaim— Talk  with  the  Handwerker— Rain— A  Drunken  Baron— Summer 
Scenery— First  View  of  the  Alps— The  Valley  of  the  Danube— Arrival  at  Vienna. 

Our  road  for  the  first  two  days  after  leaving  Prague  led 
across  broad,  elevated  plains,  over  which  a  cold  wind  came 
direct  from  the  summits  of  the  Piesengebirge,  far  to  our  left. 
Were  it  not  for  the  pleasant  view  of  the  rich  valley  of  the 
Upper  Elbe,  which  afforded  a  delightful  relief  to  the  mono¬ 
tony  of  the  hills  around  us,  the  journey  would  have  been 
exceedingly  tiresome.  The  snow  still  glistened  on  the  dis¬ 
tant  mountains  ;  but  when  the  sun  shone  out,  the  broad  val¬ 
ley  below,  clad  in  the  luxuriance  of  summer,  and  extending 
for  at  least  fifty  miles  with  its  woods,  meadows,  and  white 
villages,  was  like  a  glimpse  of  Paradise.  The  long  ridges 
over  which  we  travelled  extended  for  nearly  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles — from  the  Elbe  almost  to  the  Danube.  The 
soil  is  not  fertile,  the  inhabitants  are  exceedingly  poor,  and 


BOHEMIA  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 


223 


from  our  own  experience,  the  climate  must  be  unhealthy. 
In  winter  the  country  is  exposed  to  the  full  sweep  of  the 
northern  winds,  and  in  summer  the  sun  shines  down  on  it 
with  unbroken  force.  There  are  few  streams  running  through 
it ;  and  the  highest  part,  which  divides  the  waters  of  the  Baltic 
from  those  of  the  Black  Sea,  is  tilled  for  a  long  distance  with 
marshes  and  standing  pools,  whose  exhalations  must  inevi¬ 
tably  subject  the  inhabitants  to  disease.  This  was  percepti¬ 
ble  in  their  sallow,  sickly  countenances  ;  many  of  the  women 
are  afflicted  with  the  goitre ,  or  swelling  of  the  throat ;  and  I 
noticed  that  towards  evening  they  always  carefully  muffled 
up  their  faces.  According  to  their  own  statements,  the 
people  suffer  much  from  the  cold  in  winter,  as  the  few  forests 
the  country  affords  are  in  possession  of  the  noblemen  to 
whom  the  land  belongs,  and  who  are  not  willing  the  trees 
should  be  cut.  The  dominions  of  these  petty  despots  are 
marked  along  the  road  with  as  much  precision  as  the  bound¬ 
aries  of  an  empire.  We  saw  sometimes  their  stately  castles 
at  a  distance,  forming  quite  a  contrast  to  the  poor  scattering 
villages  of  the  peasants. 

At  Kollin,  the  road,  which  had  been  leading  eastward  in 
the  direction  of  Olmlitz,  turned  to  the  south,  and  we  took 
leave  of  the  Elbe  after  tracing  back  his  course  from  Magde¬ 
burg  nearly  to  his  home  in  the  mountains  of  Silesia.  The 
couhtry  was  barren  and  monotonous,  but  a  bright  sunshine 
made  it  look  somewhat  cheerful.  We  passed,  every  few 
paces,  some  shrine  or  statue  by  the  roadside.  This  had 
struck  me,  immediately  on  crossing  the  border,  in  the  Saxon 
Switzerland — the  boundary  of  Saxony  was  that  of  Protest¬ 
antism.  But  here  in  the  heart  of  Bohemia,  the  extent  tc 


224 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


which,  this  image  worship  is  carried,  exceeds  anything  I  had 
imagined.  There  is  something  pleasing  as  well  as  poetical 
in  the  idea  of  a  shrine  by  the  wayside,  where  the  weary  tra¬ 
veller  may  rest,  and  lift  his  heart  in  thankfulness  to  the 
Power  which  protects  him  ;  it  rras  no  doubt  a  pious  spirit 
which  placed  them  there  ;  but  the  people  appear  to  pay  the 
reverence  to  the  picture  which  they  should  give  to  its  spi 
ritual  image,  and  the  pictures  themselves  are  so  shocking 
and  ghastly,  that  they  seem  better  calculated  to  excite  hor- 
ror  than  reverence.  It  is  truly  repulsive  to  look  on  images 
of  the  Saviour  covered  with  blood,  and  generally  with 
swords  sticking  in  different  parts  of  the  body.  The  Al¬ 
mighty  is  represented  as  an  old  man,  wearing  a  Bishop’s 
mitre,  and  the  Virgin  always  wears  a  gay  silk  robe,  with 
beads  and  other  ornaments.  From  the  miserable  painting, 
the  faces  often  have  an  expression  that  would  have  been 
exceedingly  ludicrous,  if  the  shock  given  to  our  feelings  of 
reverence  were  not  predominant.  The  poor  degraded  pea¬ 
sants  always  uncovered  or  crossed  themselves  when  passing 
by  these  shrines,  but  it  appeared  to  be  rather  the  effect  of 
habit  than  any  good  impulse,  for  the  Bohemians  are  noted 
all  over  Germany  for  their  dishonesty,  and  we  learned  by 
experience  that  they  deserve  it.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  either  ;  for  a  people  so  poor  and  miserable  and  oppressed 
will  soon  learn  to  take  advantage  of  all  who  appear  better 
off  than  themselves.  They  had  one  custom  which  was  touch¬ 
ing  and  beautiful.  At  the  sound  of  the  church  bell,  as  it 
rang  the  morning,  noon  and  evening  chimes,  every  one 
uncovered,  and  repeated  to  himself  a  prayer.  Often,  as  we 
rested  at  noon  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  that  voice  spoke 


peasant  girls. 


225 


out  from  the  house  of  worship,  and  every  one  heeded  its  tone. 
Would  that  to  this  innate  spirit  of  reverence  were  added 
the  light  of  Knowledge,  which  a  tyrannical  government 
denies  them ! 

On  the  third  night  of  our  journey  we  stopped  at  the  little 
village  of  Stecken,  and  the  next  morning/  after  three  hours’ 
walk  oyer  the  ridgy  heights,  reached  the  old  Moravian  city 
of  Iglau,  built  on  a  hill.  It  happened  to  be  Corpus  Christi 
day,  and  the  peasants  of  the  neighborhood  were  hastening 
there  in  their  gayest  dresses.  The  young  women  wore  a 
crimson  scarf  around  the  head,  with  long  fringed  and  em¬ 
broidered  ends  hanging  over  the  shoulders,  or  falling  in  one 
smooth  fold  from  the  crown.  They  were  attired  in  black 
velvet  vests,  with  full  white  sleeves,  and  skirts  of  some 
gay  color,  which  were  short  enough  to  show  to  advan¬ 
tage  their  red  stockings  and  polished  shoe-buckles.  Many 
of  them  were  not  deficient  in  personal  beauty,  and  there 
was  a  gipsy -like  wildness  in  their  eyes,  which,  combined 
with  their  rich  hair  and  graceful  costume,  reminded  me  of  the 
Italian  maidens.  The  towns,  too,  with  their  open  squares 
and  arched  passages,  have  quite  a  southern  look  ;  but  the 
damp,  gloomy  weather  was  enough  to  dispel  any  illusion 
,  of  this  kind. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Iglau,  and,  in  fact,  through  the 
whole  of  Bohemia,  we  saw  some  of  the  strangest  teams  that 
could  well  be  imagined.  I  thought  the  Frankfort  milk¬ 
women,  with  their  donkeys  and  hearse-like  carts,  comical 
objects  enough,  but  they  bear  no  comparison  with  these 
Bohemian  turn-outs.  Dogs — for  economy’s  sake,  perhaps — 

generally  supply  the  place  of  cxen  or  horses,  and  it  is  no 

10# 


226 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


uncommon  tiling  to  see  three  large  mastiffs  abreast,  har¬ 
nessed  to  a  country-cart,  A  donkey  and  a  cow  together, 
are  sometimes  met  with  :  and  one  man,  going  to  the  festival 
of  Iglau,  had  his  wife  and  children  in  a  little  wagon,  drawn 
by  a  dog  and  a  donkey.  These  two,  however,  did  not 
work  well  together  ;  the  dog  would  bite  his  lazy  companion, 
and  the  man’s  time  was  constantly  employed  in  whipping 
him  off  the  donkey,  and  in  whipping  the  donkey  away  from 
the  side  of  the  road.  Once  I  saw  a  wagon  drawn  by  a  dog, 
with  a  woman  pushing  behind,  while  a  man,  doubtless  her 
lord  and  master,  sat  comfortably  within,  smoking  his  pipe 
with  the  greatest  complacency  !  The  very  climax  of  all 
was  a  woman  and  a  dog  harnessed  together ,  taking  a  load 
of  country  produce  to  market !  I  hope,  for  the  honor  of  the 
country,  it  was  not  emblematic  of  woman’s  condition  there. 
But  as  we  saw  hundreds  of  them  breaking  stone  along  the 
road,  and  occupied  at  other  laborious  and  not  less  menial 
labor,  there  is  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  it  is  so. 

As  we  approached  Iglau,  we  heard  the  sound  of  cannon  ; 
the  crowd  increased,  and  following  the  road,  we  came  to  an 
open  square,  where  a  large  number  were  already  assembled ; 
shrines  were  erected  around  it,  hung  with  pictures  and  pine 
boughs,  and  a  long  procession  of  children  was  passing  down 
the  side  as  we  entered.  We  went  towards  the  centre, 
where  Neptune  and  his  Tritons  poured  the  water  from 
their  urns  into  two  fountains,  and  stopped  to  observe  tho 
scene.  The  procession  came  on,  headed  by  a  large  body 
of  priests,  in  white  robes,  with  banners  and  crosses.  They 
stopped  before  the  principal  shrine,  in  front  of  the  Rathhaus, 
and  began  a  solemn  religious  ceremony.  The  whole  crowd 


A  NEW  COMPANION. 


227 


of  not  less  than  ten  thousand  persons,  stood  silent  and 
uncovered,  and  the  deep  voice  of  the  officiating  priest  was 
heard  over  the  whole  square.  At  times  the  multitude  sang 
responses,  the  sound  swelling  and  rolling  up  like  a  mighty 
wave,  until  it  broke  and  slowly  sank  down  again  to  the 
deepest  stillness.  The  effect  was  marred  by  the  rough  voices 
of  the  officers  commanding  the  soldiery,  and  the  volleys  of 
musketry  which  were  occasionally  discharged,  degrading 
the  solemnity  of  the  pageant  to  the  level  of  a  military 
parade. 

In  the  afternoon  we  were  overtaken  by  a  travelling  hand - 
werke on  his  way  to  Vienna,  who  joined  company  with  us. 
We  walked  several  miles  together,  talking  on  various  mat¬ 
ters,  without  his  having  the  least  suspicion  that  we  were  not 
Germans.  He  had  been  at  Trieste,  and  at  length  began 
speaking  of  the  great  beauty  of  the  American  vessels  there, 
“  Yes,”  said  I,  “  our  vessels  are  admired  all  over  the  world.” 
He  stared  at  me  without  comprehending  ; — “  your  vessels  ?” 
“  Our  country’s,”  I  replied;  “  we  are  Americans  !”  I  can 
still  see  his  look  of  incredulous  astonishment,  and  hear  the 
amazed  tone  with  which  he  cried,  “  You  Americans — it  is 
impossible  !”  We  convinced  him  nevertheless,  to  his  great 
joy,  for  all  through  Germany  there  is  a  curiosity  to  see  our 
countrymen  and  a  kindly  feeling  towards  them.  “  I  shall 
write  down  in  my  book,”  said  he,  “  so  that  I  shall  never 
forget  it,  that  I  once  travelled  with  two  Americans  !”  We 
stopped  together  for  tie  night  at  the  only  inn  in  a  large, 
beggarly  village,  where  we  obtained  a  frugal  supper  with 
difficulty ;  for  a  regiment  of  Polish  lancers  was  quartered 
there  for  the  night,  and  the  pretty  Kellnerin  was  so  busy  in 


228 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


waiting  on  the  officers  that  she  had  no  eye  for  wandering 
journeymen,  as  she  took  us  to  be.  She  even  told  us  the 
beds  were  all  occupied  and  we  must  sleep  on  the  floor. 
Just  then  the  landlord  came  by.  “  Is  it  possible,  Herr 
Landlord,”  asked  our  new  companion,  “  that  there  is  no  bed 
here  for  us  ?  Have  the  goodness  to  look  again,  for  we  are 
not  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  on  the  floor,  like  dogs  !  ”  This 
speech  had  its  effect,  for  the  Kellnerin  was  commanded  to 
find  us  beds.  She  came  back  unwillingly  after  a  time, 
and  reported  that  two  only  were  vacant.  As  a  German  bed 
is  only  a  yard  wide,  we  pushed  these  two  together,  but  they 
were  still  too  small  for  three  persons,  and  I  had  a  severe 
cold  in  the  morning,  from  sleeping  crouched  up  against  the 
damp  wall. 

The  next  day  we  passed  the  dividing  ridge  which  sepa¬ 
rates  the  waters  of  the  Elbe  from  the  Danube,  and  in  the 
evening  arrived  at  Znaim,  the  capital  of  Moravia.  The  city 
is  built  on  a  steep  hill  looking  down  on  the  valley  of  the 
Thaya,  whose  waters  mingle  with  the  Danube  near  Press- 
burg.  The  old  castle  on  the  height  was  formerly  the  resi¬ 
dence  of  the  Moravian  monarchs,  and  traces  of  the  ancient 
walls  and  battlements  of  the  city  are  still  to  be  seen.  The 
handwerker  took  us  to  the  inn  frequented  by  his  craft — the 
leather-curriers — and  we  conversed  together  until  bed-time. 
While  telling  me  of  the  oppressive  laws  of  Austria,  the 
degrading  vassalage  of  the  peasants,  and  the  horrors  of 
the  conscription  system,  he  paused  as  in  deep  thought,  and 
looking  at  me  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  said,  “  Is  it  not  true, 
America  is  free  ?  ”  I  told  him  of  our  country  and  her  insti¬ 
tutions,  adding  that  though  we  were  not  yet  as  free  as  we 


A  DRUNKEN  BARON. 


229 


hoped  and  wished  to  be,  we  enjoyed  far  more  liberty  than 
any  country  in  the  world.  “  Ah  !  ”  said  he,  “  it  is  hard  to 
leave  one’s  fatherland,  oppressed  as  it  is,  but  I  wish  I  could 
go  to  America  !  ” 

We  left  next  morning  at  eight  o’clock,  after  having  done 
full  justice  to  the  beds  of  the  “  Golden  Stag,”  and  taken 
leave  of  Florian  Francke,  the  honest  and  hearty  old  land¬ 
lord.  Znaim  appears  to  great  advantage  from  the  Vienna 
road ;  but  the  wind  which  blew  with  fury  against  our  backs, 
would  not  permit  us  to  look  long  at  it,  but  pushed  us  on 
towards  the  Austrian  border.  In  the  course  of  three  hours 
we  were  obliged  to  stop  at  a  little  village  ;  it  blew  a  hurri¬ 
cane,  and  the  rain  began  to  soak  through  our  garments. 
Here  we  stayed  three  hours  among  the  wagoners,  who 
had  stopped  on  account  of  the  weather.  One  miserable, 
drunken  wretch,  whose  face  was  disgustingly  brutal  and 
repulsive,  distinguished  himself  by  insulting  those  around 
him,  and  devouring  like  a  beast,  large  quantities  of  food. 
When  the  reckoning  was  given  him,  he  declared  he  had  al¬ 
ready  paid,  and  on  the  waiter  denying  it,  said,  “  Stop,  I  will 
show  you  something!”  pulled  out  his  passport  and  pointed 
to  the  name — “  Baron  von  Reitzenstein.”  It  availed  nothing  ; 
he  had  fallen  so  low  that  his  title  inspired  no  respect,  and 
when  we  left  the  inn  they  were  still  endeavoring  to  get  their 
money,  and  threatening  him  with  a  summary  proceeding  if 
the  demand  was  not  complied  with. 

Next  morning  the  sky  was  clear,  and  a  glorious  day  opened 
before  us.  The  country  became  more  beautiful  as  we  ap 
proached  the  Danube ;  the  hills  were  covered  with  vine¬ 
yards,  just  in  the  tender  green  of  their  first  leaves,  and  the 


230 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


rich  valleys  lay  in  Sabbath  stillness  in  the  warm  sunshine. 
Sometimes  from  an  eminence  we  could  see  far  and  wide  over 
the  garden-like  slopes,  where  little  white  villages  shone 
among  the  blossoming  fruit-trees.  A  chain  of  blue  hills  arose 
in  front,  and  I  knew  almost  instinctively  that  they  stood  by 
the  Danube  ;  but  when  we  climbed  to  the  last  height  and 
began  to  descend  to  the  valley,  where  the  river  was  still 
hidden  by  luxuriant  groves,  I  saw  far  to  the  southwest,  a 
range  of  faint,  silvery  summits,  rising  through  the  dim  ether 
like  an  airy  vision.  There  was  no  mistaking  those  snowy 
mountains.  My  heart  bounded  with  a  sudden  thrill  of  rap¬ 
turous  excitement  at  this  first  view  of  the  Alps  !  They  were 
at  a  great  distance,  and  their  outline  was  almost  blended  with 
the  blue  drapery  of  air  which  clothed  them.  I  gazed  until 
my  vision  became  dim,  and  I  could  no  longer  trace  their  airy 
lines.  They  called  up  images  blended  with  the  grandest 
events  in  the  world’s  history.  I  thought  of  the  glorious 
spirits  who  have  looked  upon  them  and  trodden  their  rugged 
sides — of  the  storms  in  which  they  veil  their  countenances, 
and  the  avalanches  they  hurl  thundering  to  the  valleys — of 
the  voices  of  great  deeds,  which  have  echoed  from  their 
crags  over  the  wide  earth — and  of  the  ages  which  have 
broken,  like  the  waves  of  a  mighty  sea,  upon  their  ever¬ 
lasting  summits ! 

As  we  descended,  the  hills  and  forests  shut  out  this  sub¬ 
lime  vision,  and  I  looked  to  the  wood-clothed  mountains 
opposite  and  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  current  that  roll¬ 
ed  at  their  feet.  We  here  entered  upon  a  rich  plain,  about 
ten  miles  in  diameter,  which  lay  between  a  backward  sweep 
of  the  hills  and  a  curve  of  the  Danube.  It  was  covered 


ARRIVAL  AT  VIENNA. 


231 


with  the 'richest  grain,  every  thing  wore  the  luxuriance  of 
summer,  and  we  seem  to  have  changed  seasons  since 
leaving  the  dreary  hills  of  Bohemia.  Continuing  over  the 
plain,  we  had  on  our  left  the  fields  of  Wagram  and  Essling, 
the  scene  of  two  of  Napoleon’s  splendid  victories.  The  out¬ 
posts  of  the  Carpathians  skirted  the  horizon — that  great 
mountain  range  which  stretches  through  Hungary  to  the 
borders  of  Russia. 

At  length  the  road  came  to  the  river’s  side,  and  we  crossed 
on  wooden  bridges  over  two  or  three  arms  of  the  Danube, 
all  of  which  together  were  little  wider  than  the  Schuylkill 
at  Philadelphia.  When  we  crossed  the  last  bridge,  we 
came  to  an  island  covered  with  groves  of  the  silver  ash. 
Crowds  of  people  filled  the  cool  walks ;  booths  of  refresh¬ 
ment  stood  by  the  roadside,  and  music  was  everywhere 
heard.  The  road  finally  terminated  in  a  circle,  where 
beautiful  alleys  radiated  into  the  groves  ;  from  the  opposite 
side  a  broad  street  lined  with  stately  buildings  extended 
into  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  through  this  avenue,  filled 
with  crowds  of  carriages  and  people  on  their  way  to  those 
delightful  walks,  we  entered  Vienna  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


VIENNA. 

Vienna — The  Ferdinand’s  Bridge — The  Streets — The  Old  City — The  Suburbs — Beau¬ 
ty  of  the  Prater — St.  Stephen’s  Cathedral — The  Belvidere  Gallery — The  Lower 
Belvidere — Historical  Belies — The  Respectful  Custode — The  Iron  Stick — Strauss 
and  his  Band — The  Tomb  of  Beethoven — Galleries  of  Art — The  Imperial  Library 
— Cabinet  of  Natural  History — State  Carriages  of  Austria — Prince  Liechtenstein’s 
Gallery — Correggio's  Venus  and  Cupid — The  Imperial  Armory — The  Crusty  Custode 
— A  Pole — Relics  cf  the  Past — Banners  of  the  Crusaders — A  Scene  at  the  Police 
Office — Light  Hearts  and  Empty  Purses. 

Vienna,  May  31,  1845. 

I  have  at  last  seen  the  thousand  wonders  of  this  great  capi¬ 
tal — this  German  Paris — this  connecting  link  between  the 
civilization  of  Europe  and  the  barbaric  magnificence  of  the 
East.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  again  in  a  city  whose  streets  are 
thronged  with  people,  and  resound  with  the  din  and  bustle 
of  business.  Although  the  end  may  be  sordid  for  which  so 
many  are  laboring,  yet  the  very  sight  of  so  much  activity  is 
gratifying.  It  is  peculiarly  so  to  an  American.  After 
residing  in  a  foreign  land  for  some  time,  the  peculiarities  of 
our  nation  are  more  easily  noticed  ;  I  find  in  my  countrymen 
abroad  a  vein  of  restless  energy — a  love  for  exciting  action 


THE  STREETS  OF  VIENNA. 


233 


—which  to  many  of  our  good  German  friends  is  perfectly 
incomprehensible.  It  may  have  been  this  activity  which 
gave  me  at  once  a  favorable  impression  of  Vienna. 

The  morning  of  our  arrival  we  sallied  out  from  our  lodg¬ 
ings  in  the  Leopoldstadt,  to  explore  the  world  before  us. 
Entering  the  broad  Praterstrasse,  we  passed  down  to  the 
little  arm  of  the  Danube,  which  separates  this  part  of  the 
new  city  from  the  old.  A  row  of  magnificent  coffee-houses 
occupies  the  bank,  and  numbers  of  persons  were  taking  their 
breakfasts  in  the  shady  porticoes.  The  Ferdinand’s  Bridge, 
which  crosses  the  stream,  was  filled  with  people ;  and  in  the 
motley  crowd  we  saw  the  dark-eyed  Greek,  and  Turks  in 
their  turbans  and  flowing  robes.  Little  brown  Hungarian 
boys  were  selling  bunches  of  lilies,  and  Italians  with  baskets 
of  oranges  stood  by  the  sidewalk.  The  throng  became 
greater  as  we  penetrated  into  the  old  city.  The  streets 
were  filled  with  carts  and  carriages,  and  as  there  are  no 
side-walks,  it  required  constant  attention  to  keep  out  of  their 
way.  Splendid  shops,  fitted  up  with  great  taste,  occupied 
the  whole  of  the  lower  stories,  and  goods  of  all  kinds  hung 
beneath  the  canvas  awnings  in  front  of  them.  Almost 
every  store  or  shop  was  dedicated  to  some  particular  person 
or  place,  which  was  represented  on  a  large  panel  by  the 
door.  The  number  of  these  paintings  added  much  to  the 
brilliancy  of  the  scene ;  and  I  was  gratified  to  find,  among 
the  images  of  kings  and  dukes,  one  dedicated  “  to  the  Ameri¬ 
can, ,”  with  an  Indian  chief  in  full  costume. 

The  AJtstadty  or  old  city,  which  contains  about  sixty 
thousand  inhabitants,  is  completely  separated  from  the  sub¬ 
urbs,  the  population  of  which,  taking  the  whole  extent  within 


234 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  outer  barrier,  numbers  nearly  half  a  million.  The  old 
city  is  situated  on  a  small  arm  of  the  Danube,  and  is  encom¬ 
passed  by  a  series  of  public  promenades,  gardens  and  walks, 
varying  from  a  quarter  to  half  a  mile  in  length,  called  the 
Glacis.  This  once  formed  part  of  the  fortifications  of  the 
city,  but  as  the  suburbs  grew  up  so  rapidly  on  all  sides,  it 
was  appropriately  changed  to  a  public  walk.  It  is  a  beauti¬ 
ful  sight,  to  stand  on  the  summit  of  the  wall  and  look  over 
the  broad  Glacis,  with  its  shady  roads  branching  in  every 
direction,  and  filled  with  inexhaustible  streams  of  people. 
The  Yorstaedte,  or  new  cities,  stretch  in  a  circle  around, 
beyond  this  ;  all  the  finest  buildings  front  on  the  Glacis, 
among  which  the  splendid  Vienna  Theatre  and  the  church 
of  San  Carlo  Borromeo  are  conspicuous.  The  mountains 
of  the  Vienna  Forest  bound  the  view,  with  here  and  there  a 
stately  castle  on  their  woody  summits. 

There  is  no  lack  of  places  for  pleasure  and  amusement. 
Besides  the  numberless  walks  of  the  Glacis,  there  are  the 
Imperial  Gardens,  with  their  cool  shades  and  flowers  and 
fountains ;  the  Augarten,  laid  out  and  opened  to  the  public 
by  the  Emperor  Joseph:  and  the  Prater,  the  largest  and 
most  beautiful  of  all.  It  lies  on  an  island  formed  by  the 
arms  of  the  Danube,  and  is  between  two  and  three  miles 
square.  From  the  circle  at  the  end  of  the  Praterstrasse, 
broad  carriage-ways  extend  through  its  forests  of  oak  and 
silver  ash,  and  over  its  verdant  lawns  to  the  principal  stream, 
which  bounds  it  on  the  north.  These  roads  are  lined  with 
stately  horse-chestnuts,  whose  branches  unite  and  form  a 
dense  canopy,  completely  shutting  out  the  sun.  Every 
afternoon  the  beauty  and  nobility  of  Vienna  whirl  through 


THE  PRATER. 


235 


the  cool  groves  in  their  gay  equipages,  while  the  sidewalks 
are  thronged  with  pedestrians,  and  the  numberless  tables 
and  seats  with  which  every  house  of  refreshment  is  sur¬ 
rounded,  are  filled  with  merry  guests.  Here,  on  Sundays 
and  holidays,  the  people  repair  in  thousands-  The  woods 
are  full  of  tame  deer,  which  run  perfectly  free  over  the 
whole  Prater.  I  saw  several  in  one  of  the  lawns,  lying 
down  in  the  grass,  with  a  number  of  children  playing 
around  or  sitting  beside  them.  It  is  delightful  to  walk 
there  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the  paths  are  crowd¬ 
ed,  and  everybody  is  enjoying  the  release  from  the  dusty 
city.  It  is  this  free,  social  life  which  renders  Vienna  so  at¬ 
tractive  to  foreigners,  and  yearly  draws  thousands  of  visitors 
from  all  parts  of  Europe. 

St.  Stephen’s  Cathedral,  in  the  centre  of  the  old  city,  is 
one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Gothic  architecture  in  Ger¬ 
many.  Its  unrivalled  tower,  which  rises  to  the  height  of 
four  hundred  and  twenty-eight  feet,  is  visible  from  every 
part  of  Vienna.  It  is  entirely  of  stone,  most  elaborately 
ornamented,  and  is  supposed  to  be  the  strongest  in  Europe. 
The  inside  is  solemn  and  grand  ;  but  the  effect  is  injured  by 
the  number  of  small  chapels  and  shrines.  In  one  of  these 
rest  the  remains  of  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy,  “  der  edle 
Ritter ,”  known  in  a  ballad  to  every  man,  woman  and  child 
in  Germany. 

The  Belvidere  Gallery  fills  thirty-five  halls,  and  contains 
three  thousand  pictures.  It  is  absolutely  bewildering  to 
walk  through  such  vast  collections  ;  you  can  do  no  more 
than  glance  at  each  painting,  and  hurry  by  face  after  face, 
and  figure  after  figure,  on  which  you  would  willingly  gaze 


236 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


for  hours  and  inhale  the  atmosphere  of  beauty  that  surrounds 
them.  Then  after  you  leave,  the  brain  is  filled  with  their 
forms — radiant  faces  look  upon  you,  and  you  see  constantly 
in  fancy,  the  calm  brow  of  a  Madonna,  the  sweet  young 
face  of  a  child,  or  the  blending  of  divine  with  mortal  beauty 
in  an  angel’s  countenance.  I  endeavor,  if  possible,  always 
to  make  several  visits — to  study  those  pictures  which  cling 
first  to  the  memory,  and  pass  over  those  which  make 
little  or  no  impression.  It  is  better  to  have  a  few  images 
fresh  and  enduring,  than  a  confused  and  indistinct  memory 
of  many. 

The  Lower  Belvidere,  separated  from  the  Upper  by  a 
large  garden,  laid  out  in  the  style  of  that  at  Versailles,  con¬ 
tains  the  celebrated  Ambraser  Sammlung ,  a  collection  of 
armor.  In  the  first  hall  I  noticed  the  complete  armor  of 
the  Emperor  Maximilian,  for  man  and  horse — the  armor  of 
Charles  V.,  and  Prince  Moritz  of  Saxony,  while  the  walls 
were  filled  with  figures  of  German  nobles  and  knights,  in 
the  suits  they  wore  in  life.  There  is  also  the  armor  of  the 
great  <k  Baver  of  Trient,”  trabant  of  the  Archduke  Ferdi¬ 
nand.  He  was  nearly  nine  feet  in  stature,  and  his  spear, 
though  not  equal  to  Satan’s  in  Paradise  Lost,  would  still 
make  a  tree  of  tolerable  dimensions.  In  the  second  hall 
we  saw  weapons  taken  from  the  Turkish  army  who  besieged 
Vienna,  with  the  horse-tail  standards  of  the  Grand  Vizier, 
Kara  Mustapha.  The  most  interesting  article  was  the 
battle-axe  of  the  unfortunate  Montezuma,  which  was  pro¬ 
bably  given  to  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  by  Cortez.  It  is  a 
plain  instrument  of  dark  colored  stone,  about  three  feet 
long. 


RELICS  OF  PAST  HISTORY. 


237 


We  also  visited  the  Burger  liche  Zeughaus ,  a  collection 
of  arms  and  weapons,  belonging  to  tlie  citizens  of  Vienna. 
It  contains  sixteen  thousand  weapons  and  suits  of  armor, 
including  those  plundored  from  the  Turks,  when  John  Sobi- 

o—  r 

eski  conquered  them  and  relieved  Vienna  from  the  siege. 
Besides  a  great  number  of  sabres,  lances  and  horse-tails, 
there  is  the  blood-red  banner  of  the  Grand  Vizier,  as  well 
as  his  skull  and  shroud,  which  is  covered  with  sentences  from 
the  Koran.  On  his  return  to  Belgrade,  after  the  defeat  at 
Vienna,  the  Sultan  sent  him  a  bow-string,  and  he  was  ac¬ 
cordingly  strangled.  The  Austrians  having  taken  Belgrade 
some  time  after,  they  opened  his  grave  and  carried  off  his 
skull  and  shroud  as  well  as  the  bow-string,  as  relics 
Another  large  and  richly  embroidered  banner,  which  hung 
in  a  broad  sheet  from  the  ceiling,  was  far  more  interesting  to 
me.  It  had  once  waved  from  the  vessels  of  the  Knights 
of  Malta,  and  had,  perhaps,  on  the  prow  of  the  Grand 
Master’s  ship,  led  that  romantic  band  to  battle  against  the 
Infidel. 

A  large  number  of  peasants  and  common  soldiers  were  ad¬ 
mitted  to  view  the  armory  at  the  same  time.  The  grave 
custode  who  showed  us  the  curiosities,  explaining  every  thing 
in  phrases  known  by  heart  for  years  and  making  the  same 
starts  of  admiration  whenever  he  came  to  any  thing  peculiar¬ 
ly  remarkable,  singled  us  out  as  the  two  persons  most  worthy 
of  attention.  Accordingly  his  remarks  were  directed  entirely 
to  us,  and  his  humble  countrymen  might  as  well  have  been 
invisible,  for  the  notice  he  took  of  them.  On  passing  out, 
we  gave  him  a  coin  worth  about  fifteen  cents,  which  hap¬ 
pened  to  be  so  much  more  than  the  others  gave  him,  that, 


238 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


bowing  graciously,  lie  invited  us  to  write  our  names  in  the 
album  for  strangers.  While  we  were  doing  this,  a  poor  hand* 
werker  lingered  behind,  apparently  for  the  same  object, 

whom  he  scornfully  dismissed,  shaking  the  coin  in  his  hand, 

% 

and  saying  :  “  The  album  is  not  for  such  as  you — it  is  for 
noble  gentlemen  !” 

On  our  way  through  the  city,  we  often  noticed  a  house  on 
the  southern  side  of  St.  Stephen’s  Platz,  dedicated  to  “  the 
Iron  Stick.”  In  a  niche  by  the  window  stood  what  ap¬ 
peared  to  be  the  limb  of  a  tree,  completely  filled  with  nails, 
which  were  driven  in  so  thick  that  no  part  of  the  original 
wood  is  visible.  We  learned  afterwards  the  legend  concern¬ 
ing  it.  The  Vienna  Forest  is  said  to  have  extended,  several 
hundred  years  ago,  to  this  place.  A  locksmith’s  apprentice 
was  enabled,  by  the  devil’s  help,  to  make  the  iron  bars  and 
padlock  which  confine  the  limb  in  its  place ;  every  lock¬ 
smith’s  apprentice  who  came  to  Vienna  after  that,  drove  a 
nail  into  it,  until  finally  there  was  room  for  no  more.  It  is 
a  singular  legend,  and  whoever  may  have  placed  the  limb 
there  originally,  there  it  has  remained  for  two  or  three  hundred 
years  at  least. 

We  spent  two  or  three  hours  delightfully  one  evening  in 
listening  to  Strauss’s  band.  We  went  about  sunset  to  the 
Odeon,  a  new  building  in  the  Leopoldstadt.  It  has  a  refresh¬ 
ment  hall  nearly  five  hundred  feet  long,  with  a  handsome 
fresco  ceiling  and  glass  doors  opening  into  a  garden  walk  of 
the  same  length.  Both  the  hall  and  garden  were  filled  with 
tables,  where  the  people  seated  themselves  as  they  came, 
and  conversed  sociably  over  their  coffee  and  wine.  The 
orchestra  was  placed  in  a  little  ornamental  temple  in  the 


BTRAUSS  AND  HIS  BAND. 


239 


garden,  in  front  of  which  I  stationed  myself,  for  I  was  anxi¬ 
ous  to  see  the  world's  waltz-king,  whose  magic  tones  set  the 
heels  of  half  Christendom  in  motion.  After  the  band  finished 
tuning  their  instruments,  a  middle-sized,  handsome  man 
stepped  forward  with  long  strides,  with  a  violin  in  one  hand 
and  bow  in  the  other,  and  began  waving  the  latter  up  and 
down,  like  a  magician  summoning  his  spirits.  As  if  he  had 
waved  the  sound  out  of  his  bow,  the  tones  leaped  forth  from  « 
the  instruments,  and  guided  by  his  eye  and  hand,  fell  into  a 
merry  measure.  The  accuracy  with  which  every  instrument 
performed  its  part,  was  truly  marvellous.  He  could  not  have 
struck  the  measure  or  the  harmony  more  certainly  from  the 
keys  of  his  own  piano,  than  from  that  large  band.  Some¬ 
times  the  air  was  so  exquisitely  light  and  bounding,  that  the 
feet  could  scarcely  keep  on  the  earth ;  then  it  sank  into  a 
mournful  lament,  with  a  sobbing  tremulousness,  and  died 
away  in  a  long-breathed  sigh.  Strauss  seemed  to  feel  the 
music  in  every  limb.  He  would  wave  his  fiddle-bow  awhile, 
then  commence  playing  with  desperate  energy,  moving  his 
whole  body  to  the  measure,  until  the  sweat  rolled  from  his 
brow.  A  book  was  lying  on  the  stand  before  him,  but  he 
made  no  use  of  it.  He  often  glanced  around  with  a  half- 
triumphant  smile  at  the  restless  crowd,  whose  feet  could 
scarcely  be  restrained  from  bounding  to  the  magic  measure. 
It  was  the  horn  of  Oberon  realized. 

The  company,  which  consisted  of  several  hundred,  ap« 

j  '+  _ 

peared  to  be  full  of  enjoyment.  They  sat  under  the  trees 
in  the  calm,  cool  twilight,  with  the  stars  twinkling  above, 
and  talked  and  laughed  together  during  the  pauses  of  the 
music,  or  strolled  up  and  down  the  lighted  alleys.  Wo 


240 


VIEWS  A-FOOT* 


walked  up  and  down  with  them,  and  thought  how  much  we 
should  enjoy  such  a  scene  at  home,  where  the  faces  around 
us  would  be  those  of  friends,  and  the  language  our  mother 
tongue ! 

We  went  a  long  way  through  the  suburbs  one  bright 
afternoon  to  a  little  cemetery  about  a  mile  from  the  city,  to 
find  the  grave  of  Beethoven.  On  ringing  at  the  gate,  a  girl 
admitted  us  into  the  grounds,  in  which  are  many  monu¬ 
ments  of  noble  families  who  have  vaults  there.  I  passed  up 
the  narrow  walk,  reading  the  inscriptions,  till  I  came  to  the 
tomb  of  Franz  Clement,  a  young  composer,  who  died  two  or 
three  years  ago.  On  turning  again,  my  eye  fell  instantly 
on  the  word  “  Beethoven,”  in  golden  letters,  on  a  tomb¬ 
stone  of  gray  marble.  A  simple  gilded  lyre  decorated  the 
pedestal,  above  which  was  a  serpent  encircling  a  butterfly — 
the  emblem  of  resurrection  to  eternal  life.  Here,  then, 
mouldered  the  remains  of  that  restless  spirit,  who  seemed  to 
have  strayed  to  earth  from  another  clime,  from  such  a 
height  did  he  draw  his  glorious  conceptions.  The  perfection 
he  sought  for  here  in  vain,  he  has  now  attained  in  a  world 
where  the  soul  is  freed  from  the  bars  which  bind  it  in  this. 
There  were  no  flowers  planted  around  the  tomb  by  those 
who  revered  his  genius  ;  only  one  wreath,  withered  and 
dead,  lay  among  the  grass,  as  if  left  long  ago  b^  some 
solitary  pilgrim,  and  a  few  wild  buttercups  hung  with  their 
bright  blossoms  over  the  slab.  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  pluck  one  or  two,  while  the  old  grave-digger 
was  busy  preparing  a  new  tenement.  I  thought  that  other 

v  / 

buds  would  open  in  a  few  days,  but  those  I  took  would  be 
treasured  many  a  year  as  sacred  relics.  A  few  paces  off  is 


GALLERIES  OF  ART. 


241 


the  grave  of  Schubert,  the  composer,  whose  beautiful  songs 
are  heard  all  over  Germany. 

It  would  employ  one  constantly  for  a  week  to  visit  all  the 
rich  collections  of  art  in  Vienna.  They  are  all  open  to  the 
public  on  certain  days,  and  we  have  been  kept  in  perpetual 
motion  running  from  one  part  of  the  city  to  another,  in 
order  to  arrive  at  some  gallery  at  the  appointed  time. 
Tickets,  which  must  often  be  procured  in  quite  different 
parts  of  the  city,  are  necessary  for  admittance  to  many  ; 
and  on  applying  after  much  trouble  and  search,  we  fre¬ 
quently  found  that  we  came  at  the  wrong  hour,  and  must 
leave  without  effecting  our  object.  We  employed  no  guide, 
but  preferred  finding  everything  ourselves.  We  made  a  list 
every  morning  of  the  collections  open  during  the  day,  and 
employed  the  rest  of  the  time  in  visiting  the  churches  and 
public  gardens,  or  rambling  through  the  suburbs. 

We  visited  the  Imperial  Library  a  day  or  two  ago.  The 
hall  is  245  feet  long,  with  a  magnificent  dome  in'the  centre, 
under  which  stands  the  statue  of  Charles  V.,  of  Carrara 
marble,  surrounded  by  twelve  other  monarchs  of  the  house 
of  Hapsburg.  •  The  walls  are  of  variegated  marble,  richly 
ornamented  with  gold,  and  the  ceiling  and  dome  are  covered 
with  brilliant  fresco  paintings.  The  library  numbers  300,000 
volumes,  and  16,000  manuscripts,  which  are  kept  in  walnut 
cases,  gilded  and  adorned  with  medallions.  The  rich  and 
harmonious  effect  of  the  whole  cannot  easily  be  imagined. 
It  is  exceedingly  appropriate  that  a  hall  of  such  splendor 
should  be  used  to  hold  a  library.  The  pomp  of  a  palace 
may  seem  hollow  and  vain,  for  it  is  but  the  dwelling  of  a 

man ;  but  no  building  can  be  too  magnificent  for  the  hun- 

11 


242 


VIEWS  A -FOOT, 


dreds  of  great  and  immortal  spirits,  who  have  visited  earth 
during  thirty  centuries,  to  inhabit. 

We  also  visited  the  Cabinet  of  Natural  History,  which  is 
open  twice  a  week  “  to  all  respectably  dressed  persons,”  as 
the  notice  at  the  door  says.  But  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
attempt  to  describe  what  we  saw  there.  The  Mineral  Cabi¬ 
net  had  a  greater  interest  ,■>  me,  inasmuch  as  it  called  up 
che  recollections  of  many  a  schoolboy  ramble  over  the  hills 
and  into  all  kinds  of  quarries,  far  and  near.  It  is  said  to  be 
the  most  perfect  collection  in  existence.  I  was  pleased  to 
find  many  old  acquaintances  there,  from  the  mines  of  Penn¬ 
sylvania  ;  Massachusetts  and  New  York  were  also  very  well 
represented.  I  had  no  idea  before,  that  the  mineral  wealth 
of  Austria  was  so  great.  Besides  the  iron  and  lead  mines 
among  the  hills  of  Styria  and  the  quicksilver  of  Idria,  there 
is  no  small  amount  of  gold  and  silver,  and  the  Carpathian 
mountains  are  rich  in  jasper,  opal  and  lapiz  lazuli.  The 
largest  opal  ever  found,  was  in  this  collection.  It  weighs 
thirty-four  ounces,  and  looks  like  a  condensed  rainbow. 

In  passing  the  palace,  we  saw  several  persons  entering  the 
basement  story  under  the  Library,  and  had  the  curiosity  to 
follow  them.  By  so  doing,  we  saw  the  splendid  equipages 
of  the  house  of  Austria.  There  must  have  been  near  a 
hundred  carriages  and  sleds,  of  every  shape  and  style,  from 
the  heavy,  square  vehicle  of  the  last  century,  to  the  most 
light  and  elegant  conveyance  of  the  present  day.  One 
clumsy,  but  magnificent  machine,  of  crimson  and  gold,  was 
pointed  out  as  being  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old.  The 
misery  we  witnessed  in  starving  Bohemia,  formed  a  striking 
contrast  to  all  this  splendor. 


prince  Liechtenstein’s  gallery.  243 

Besides  the  Imperial  Picture  Gallery,  there  are  several 
belonging  to  princes  and  noblemen  in  Vienna,  which  are 
scarcely  less  valuable.  The  most  important  of  these  is  that 
of  Frince  Liechtenstein,  which  we  visited  yesterday.  We 
applied  at  the  porter’s  lodge  for  admittance  to  the  gallery, 
but  he  refused  to  open  it  for  two  persons.  As  we  did  not 
wish  a  long  walk  for  nothing,  we  determined  to  wait  for 
other  visitors.  Presently  a  gentleman  and  lady  came 
and  inquired  if  the  gallery  was  open.  We  told  them 
it  would  probably  be  opened  now,  although  the  porter 
required  a  larger  number.  The  gentleman  went  to  seek 
him,  and  presently  returned,  saying  :  44  He  will  come  imme¬ 
diately  ;  I  thought  best  to  put  the  number  a  little  higher, 
and  so  I  told  him  there  were  six  of  us !”  Having  little 
artistic  knowledge  of  paintings,  I  judge  of  them  according  to 
the  effect  they  produce  upon  me — in  proportion  as  they 
gratify  the  natural  instinctive  love  of  the  Beautiful.  I  have 
been  therefore  disappointed  in  some  painters  whose  names 
are  widely  known,  and  surprised  again  to  find  works  of 
great  beauty  by  others  of  smaller  fame.  Judging  by  such 
a  standard,  I  should  say  that  44  Cupid  sleeping  in  the  lap  of 
Venus,”  by  Correggio,  is  the  glory  of  this  collection.  The 
beautiful  limbs  of  the  boy-god  droop  in  the  repose  of  slum¬ 
ber,  as  I  ,  head  rests  on  his  mother’s  knee,  and  there  is  a 
smile  lingering  around  his  half-parted  lips,  as  if  he  was 
dreaming  new  triumphs.  The  face  is  not  that  of  the  wicked, 
mischief-loving  child,  but  rather  a  sweet  cherub,  bringing  a 
blessing  to  all  he  visits.  The  figure  of  the  goddess  is  ex¬ 
quisite.  Her  countenance,  unearthly  in  its  loveliness, 
expresses  the  tenderness  of  a  young  mother,  as  she  sits 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


244 


with  one  finger  pressed  on  her  rosy  lip,  watching  his 
slumber. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  objects  in  Vienna,  is  the 
Imperial  Armory.  We  were  admitted  by  means  of  tickets 
previously  procured  from  the  Armory  Direction.  Around 
the  wall  on  the  inside,  is  suspended  the  enormous  chain 
which  the  Turks  stretched  across  the  Danube  at  Buda,  in 
the  year  1529,  to  obstruct  the  navigation.  It  has  eight  thou¬ 
sand  links,  and  is  nearly  a  mile  in  length.  The  court  is  filled 
with  cannon  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  many  of  which  were 
conquered  from  other  nations.  I  saw  a  great  many  which 
were  cast  during  the  French  Revolution,  with  the  words 
“  Liberty  !  Egalite  /”  upon  them,  and  a  number  of  others 
bearing  the  simple  letter  “  N.” 

Finally,  a  company  which  had  precedence  of  us,  finished 
their  sight-seeing,  and  the  forty  or  fifty  persons  who  had 
collected  during  the  interval  were  admitted.  The  Armory 
is  a  hollow  square,  and  must  be  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  length.  We  were  taken  into  a  circular  hall,  made 
entirely  of  weapons,  to  represent  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe.  Here  the  crusty  old  guide  who  admitted  us,  rapped 
with  his  stick  on  the  shield  of  an  old  knight  who  stood  near, 
to  keep  silence,  and  then  addressed  us :  “  When  I  speak 
every  one  must  be  silent.  No  one  can  write  or  draw  any¬ 
thing.  No  one  shall  touch  anything,  or  go  to  look  at  any¬ 
thing  else,  before  I  have  done  speaking.  Otherwise,  they 
shall  be  taken  immediately  into  the  street  again  !  ”  Thus 
in  every  hall  he  rapped  and  scolded,  driving  the  women  to 
one  side  with  his  stick  and  the  men  to  the  other,  until  we 
had  nearly  completed  the  tour  of  the  halls,  when  the  thought 


THE  CRUSTY  CUST0EE. 


245 

of  the  coming  fee  made  him  a  little  more  polite.  He  had  a 
regular  set  of  descriptions  by  heart,  which  he  delivered  with 
a  great  flourish,  pointing  particularly  to  the  common  military 
caps  of  the  late  Emperors  of  Prussia  and  Austria,  as  “  treasures 
beyond  all  price  to  the  nation !  ”  Whereupon,  the  crowd 
of  common  people  gazed  reverently  on  the  shabby  beavers, 
and  I  verily  believe,  would  have  devoutly  kissed  them,  had 
the  glass  covering  been  removed.  I  happened  to  be  next  to 
a  tall,  dignified  young  man,  who  looked  on  all  this  with  a 
displeasure  amounting  to  contempt.  Seeing  I  was  a  for¬ 
eigner,  he  spoke,  in  a  low  tone*  bitterly  of  the  Austrian 
government.  “  You  are  not  then  an  Austrian  ?  ”  I  asked. 
•‘No,  thank  God !  ”  was  the  reply;  “  but  I  have  seen 
enough  of  Austrian  tyranny.  I  am  a  Pole  !  ” 

Some  of  the  halls  represent  a  fortification,  with  walls* 
ditches,  and  embankments,  made  of  muskets  and  swords. 
A  long  room  in  the  second  wing  contains  an  encampment, 
in  which  twelve  or  fifteen  large  tents  are  formed  in  like 
manner.  Along  the  sides  are  grouped  old  Austrian  ban¬ 
ners,  standards  taken  from  the  French,  and  horse-tails  and 
flags  captured  from  the  Turks.  “  They  make  a  great  boast,” 
6aid  the  P ole.  “  of  a  half  dozen  French  colors,  but  let  them 
go  to  the  Hopital  des  Invalides,  in  Paris,  and  they  will 
find  hundreds  of  the  best  banners  of  Austria  !  ”  They  also 
exhibited  the  armor  of  a  dwarf  king  of  Bohemia  and  Hun¬ 
gary,  who  died,  a  gray-headed  old  man,  in  his  twentieth 
year ;  the  sword  of  Marlborough ;  the  coat  of  Gustavug 
Adolphus,  pierced  in  the  breast  and  back  with  the  bullet 
which  killed  him  at  Liitzen ;  the  armor  of  the  old  Bohemian 
princess  Libussa,  and  that  of  the  amazon  Wlaska,  with  a 


246 


VIEWS  A-FOOT* 


steel  vizor  made  to  fit  the  features  of  her  face.  The  last 
wing  was  the  most  remarkable.  Here  we  saw  the  helm  and 
breastplate  of  Attila,  king  of  the  Huns,  which  once  gleamed 
at  the  head  of  his  myriads  of  wild  hordes,  before  the  walls 
of  Rome ;  the  armor  of  Count  Stalireinberg,  who  com¬ 
manded  Vienna  during  the  Turkish  siege  in  1529,  and  the 
holy  banner  of  Mahomet,  taken  at  that  time  from  the  Grand 
Vizier,  together  with  the  steel  harness  of  J ohn  Sobieski,  of 
Poland,  who  rescued  Vienna  from  the  Turkish  troops  under 
Kara  Mustaplia  ;  the  hat,  sword,  and  breastplate  of  Godfrey 
of  Bouillon,  the  Crusader-king  of  Jerusalem,  with  the  ban¬ 
ners  of  the  cross  the  Crusaders  had  borne  to  Palestine,  and 
the  standard  they  captured  from  the  Turks  on  the  walls  of 
the  Holy  City  !  I  felt  all  my  boyish  enthusiasm  for  the 
romantic  age  of  the  Crusaders  revive,  as  I  looked  on  the 
torn  and  mouldering  banners  which  had  once  waved  on  the 
hills  of  Judea,  or  perhaps  followed  the  sword  of  the  Lion 
Heart  through  the  fight  on  the  field  of  Ascalon  !  What 
tales  could  they  not  tell,  those  old  standards,  cut  and 
shivered  by  spear  and  lance  !  What  brave  hands  have 
carried  them  through  the  storm  of  battle,  what  dying  eyes 
have  looked  upwards  to  the  cross  on  their  folds,  as  the 
last  prayer  was  breathed  for  the  rescue  of  the  Holy  Se¬ 
pulchre  ! 

I  must  now  close  the  catalogue.  This  morning  we  shall 
look  upon  Vienna  for  the  last  time.  Our  knapsacks  are 
repacked,  and  the  passports  (precious  documents  !)  vised  for 
Munich.  The  getting  of  this  vise,  however,  caused  a  comi¬ 
cal  scene  at  the  Police  Office,  yesterday.  We  entered  the 
Inspector’s  Hall  and  took  our  stand  quietly  among  the 


SCENE  AT  THE  POLICE  OFFICE.*  247 

crowd  of  persons  who  were  gathered  around  a  railing  which 
separated  them  from  the  main  office.  One  of  the  clerks 
came  up,  scowling  at  us,  and  asked  in  a  rough  tone,  “  What 
do  you  want  here  ?  ”  We  handed  him  our  tickets  of  sojourn 
(for  when  a  traveller  spends  more  than  twenty-four  hours  in 
a  German  city,  he  must  take  out  a  permission  and  pay  for 
it),  with  the  request  that  he  would  give  us  our  passports. 
He  glanced  over  the  tickets,  came  back,  and  with  constrained 
politeness,  asked  us  to  step  within  the  railing.  Here  we 
were  introduced  to  the  Chief  Inspector.  “  Desire  Herr 

- to  come  here,”  said  he  to  a  servant ;  then  turning  to 

us,  “  I  am  happy  to  see  the  gentlemen  in  Vienna.”  An 
officer  immediately  came  up,  who  addressed  us  in  fluent 
English.  “You  may  speak  in  your  native  tongue,”  said 
the  Inspector  : — “excuse  our  neglect;  from  the  facility  with 
which  you  speak  German,  we  supposed  you  were  natives  of 
Austria  !  ”  Our  passports  were  signed  at  once  and  given  us 
with  a  gracious  bow,  accompanied  by  the  hope  that  we 
would  visit  Vienna  again  before  long.  All  this,  of  course, 
was  perfectly  unintelligible  to  the  wondering  crowd  outside 
the  railing.  Seeing,  however,  the  honors  we  were  receiving 
they  fell  back,  and  respectfully  made  room  for  us  to  pass 
out.  I  kept  a  grave  face  until  we  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs,  when  I  gave  way  to  restrained  laughter  in  a 
manner  that  shocked  the  dignity  of  the  guard,  who  looked 
savagely  at  me  over  his  forest  of  moustache.  I  would 
nevertheless  have  felt  grateful  for  the  attention  we  received 
as  Americans,  were  it  not  for  our  uncourteous  reception  as 
suspected  Austrians. 

We  have  just  been  enjoying  a  hearty  laugh  again* 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


248 

» 

though  from  a  very  different  cause,  and  one  which,  accord¬ 
ing  to  common  custom,  ought  rather  to  draw  forth  tears.,  or 

at  least  sighs  and  groans.  This  morning  B -  suggested 

an  examination  of  our  funds,  for  we  had  neglected  keeping 
a  strict  account,  and  what  with  being  cheated  in  Bohemia 
and  tempted  by  the  amusements  of  Vienna,  there  was  an 
apparent  dwindling  away.  So  we  emptied  our  pockets, 
counted  up  the  contents,  and  found  we  had  just  ten  florins, 
or  four  dollars  apiece.  The  thought  of  our  situation,  away 
in  the  heart  of  Austria,  five  hundred  miles  from  our  Frank¬ 
fort  home,  seems  irresistibly  laughable*  By  allowing  twenty 
days  for  the  journey,  we  shall  have  half  a  florin  (twenty 
cents)  a  day  for  our  travelling  expenses.  This  is  a  homoeopa¬ 
thic  allowance,  indeed,  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  ex¬ 
cept  to  make  the  attempt.  So  now  adieu,  Vienna !  In  two 
hours  we  shall  be  among  the  hills  again. 


CHAPTER  XXI Y. 


UP  THE  DANUBE. 

I 

/ 

A  Strong  Wind — Tho  Palace  of  Schonbrunn — The  Abbey  of  Melk— The  Luxury  of 
Foot-Travel — American  Scenery — Rencontre  with  Bohemian  Gipsies — Danubian 
Landscapes — The  Styrian  Alps — Holy  Florian — Votive  Shrines — Linz  and  its  Towers 
— More  Money  Wanted — Lambach — A  Mountain  Portrait — Falls  of  the  Traun — Bat* 
tle-Field  of  the  Unknown  Student. 

We  passed  out  of  Vienna  in  the  face  of  one  of  the  strongest 
winds  it  was  ever  my  lot  to  encounter.  It  swept  across  the 
plain  with  such  force  that  we  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
advance  until  we  got  under  the  lee  of  a  range  of  hills. 
About  two  miles  from  the  barrier  we  passed  Schonbrunn, 
the  Austrian  Versailles.  It  was  built  by  the  Empress  Maria 
Theresa,  and  was  the  residence  of  Napoleon  in  1809,  when 
Vienna  was  in  the  hands  of  the  French.  Later,  in  1832, 
the  Duke  of  Reichstadt  died  in  the  same  room  which  his 
father  once  occupied.  Behind  the  palace  is  a  magnificent 
garden,  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  covered  with  rich  forests  and 
crowned  with  an  open  pillared  hall,  three  hundred  feet  long, 
called  the  Gloriette.  The  colossal  eagle  which  surmounts  it, 
can  be  seen  a  great  distance. 

11* 


250 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  lovely  valley  in  which  Schonbrunn  lies,  follows  the 
course  of  the  little  river  Vienna  into  the  heart  of  that  moun¬ 
tain  region  lying  between  the  Styrian  Alps  and  the  Danube, 
and  called  the  Vienna  Forest.  Into  this  our  road  led  between 
hills  covered  with  wood,  with  here  and  there  a  lovely  green 
meadow,  where  herds  of  cattle  were  grazing.  On  the  third 
day  we  came  to  the  Danube  again  at  Melk,  a  little  city  built 
under  the  edge  of  a  steep  hill,  on  the  summit  of  which 
stands  the  palace-like  abbey  of  the  Benedictine  Monks. 
The  old  friars  must  have  had  a  merry  life  of  it,  for  the  wine- 
cellar  of  the  abbey  furnished  the  French  army  50,000 
measures  for  several  days  in  succession.  The  shores  of  the 
Danube  here  are  extremely  beautiful.  Although  not  so 
picturesque  as  the  PJiine,  the  scenery  of  the  Danube  is  on  a 
grander  scale.  On  the  south  side  the  mountains  bend  down 
to  it  with  a  majestic  sweep,  and  there  must  be  delightful 
glances  into  the  valleys  that  lie  between,  in  passing  down  its 
current. 

But  we  soon  left  the  river,  and  journeyed  on  through  the 
enchanting  inland  vales.  To  give  an  idea  of  the  glorious 
enjoyment  of  travelling  through  such  scenes,  let  me  copy  a 
leaf  out  of  my  journal,  written  as  we  rested  at  noon  on  the 
top  of  a  lofty  hill : — “  Here,  while  the  delightful  mountain 
breeze  that  comes  fresh  from  the  Alps  cools  my  forehead, 
and  the  pines  around  are  sighing  their  eternal  anthem,  I 
seize  a  few  moments  to  describe  the  paradise  around  me.  I 
have  felt  an  elevation  of  mind  and  spirit,  an  unmixed 
rapture,  from  morning  till  night,  since  we  left  Vienna.  It 
is  the  brightest  and  balmiest  June  weather  ;  a  fresh  breeze 
sings  through  the  trees  and  waves  the  ripening  grain  on  the 


THE  LUXURY  OF  FOOT-TRAVEL. 


251 


verdant  meadows  and  hill-slopes*  The  air  is  filled  with 
bird-music.  The  larks  sing  above  us  out  of  sight,  the  bull¬ 
finch  wakes  his  notes  in  the  grove,  and  at  eve  the  nightin¬ 
gale  pours  forth  her  passionate  strain.  The  meadows  are 
literally  covered  with  flowers — beautiful  purple  salvias, 
pinks  such  as  we  have  at  home  in  our  gardens,  and  glowing 
buttercups,  color  the  banks  of  every  stream.  I  never  saw 
richer  or  more  luxuriant  foliage.  Magnificent  forests  clothe 
the  hills,  and  the  villages  are  embosomed  in  fruit  trees, 
shrubbery  and  flowers.  Sometimes  we  go  for  miles  through 
some  enchanting  valley,  lying  like  a  paradise  between  the 
mountains,  while  the  distant,  white  Alps  look  on  it  from 
afar ;  sometimes  over  swelling  ranges  of  hills,  where  we  can 
see  to  the  right  the  valley  of  the  Danube,  threaded  by  his 
silver  current  and  dotted  with  white  cottages  and  glittering 
spires,  and  farther  beyond,  the  blue  mountains  of  the  Bohe¬ 
mian  Forest.  To  the  left,  the  range  of  the  Styrian  Alps 
stretches  along  the  sky,  summit  above  summit,  the  farther 
ones  robed  in  perpetual  snow.  I  never  tire  gazing  on  these 
glorious  hills.  They  fill  the  soul  with  a  sense  of  sublimity, 
such  as  one  feels  when  listening  to  triumphal  music.  They 
seem  like  the  marble  domes  of  a  mighty  range  of  temples, 
where  Earth  worships  her  Maker  with  an  organ-anthem  of 
storms ! 

“  There  is  an  exquisite  luxury  in  travelling  here.  We 
walk  all  day  through  such  scenes,  resting  often  in  the  shade 
of  the  fruit  trees  which  line  the  road,  or  on  a  mossy  bank 
by  the  side  of  some  cool  forest.  Sometimes  for  enjoyment 
as  well  as  variety,  we  make  our  dining-place  by  a  clear 
spring  instead  of  within  a  smoky  tavern  ;  and  our  simple 


252 


Views  a-foot. 


meals  have  a  relish  an  epicure  could  never  attain*  Away 
with  your  railroads  and  steamboats  and  mail-coaches,  or  keep 
them  for  those  who  have  no  eye  but  for  the  sordid  interests 
of  life!  With  my  knapsack  and  pilgrim-staff,  I  ask  not 
their  aid.  If  a  mind  and  soul  full  of  rapture  with  beauty , 
a  frame  in  glowing  and  vigorous  health,  and  slumbers  un- 
broken  even  by  dreams,  are  blessings  any  one  would  attain* 
let  him  shoulder  his  knapsack  and  walk  through  Lower 
Austria  !” 

I  have  never  been  so  strongly  and  constantly  reminded 
of  America,  as  during  this  journey.  Perhaps  the  balmy 
season,  the  same  in  which  I  last  looked  upon  the  dear 
scenes  of  home,  may  have  its  effect ;  but  there  is  also  a  rich* 
ness  in  the  forests  and  waving  fields  of  grain,  a  wild  luxu^ 
riance  in  every  landscape,  which  I  have  seen  nowhere  else 
in  Europe.  The  large  farm  houses,  buried  in  orchards* 
scattered  over  the  valleys,  add  to  the  effect.  Everything 
seems  to  speak  of  happiness  and  prosperity. 

We  were  met  one  morning  by  a  band  of  wandering  Bo* 
hemian  gipsies- — the  first  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw.  A  young 
woman  with  a  small  child  in  her  arms  came  directly  up  to 
me,  and  looking  full  in  my  face  with  her  wild  black  eyes, 
said,  without  any  preface :  “  Yes,  he  too  has  met  with  sor¬ 
row  and  trouble  already,  and  will  still  have  more.  But  he 
is  #ot  false — he  is  true  and  sincere,  and  will  also  meet  with 
good  luck!”  She  said  she  could  tell  me  three  numbers 
with  which  I  should  buy  a  lottery  ticket  and  win  a  great 
prize.  I  told  her  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  lot¬ 
tery,  and  would  buy  no  ticket,  but  she  persisted,  saying : 

Has  he  a  twenty  kreutzer  piece  will  he  give  it  ?  Lay 


DANUBIAN  LANDSCAPES. 


253 


it  in  his  hand  and  make  a  cross  over  it,  and  I  will  reveal  the 
numbers !”  On  my  refusal,  she  became  angry,  and  left  me, 
saying:  “Let  him  take  care — on  the  third  day  something 
will  happen  to  him  An  old,  wrinkled  hag  made  the  same 
proposition  to  my  companion  with  no  better  success.  They 
reminded  me  strikingly  of  our  Indians ;  their  complexion  is 
a  dark  brown,  and  their  eyes  and  hair  are  black  as  night. 
These  belonged  to  a  small  tribe  who  wander  through  the 
forests  of  Bohemia,  and  support  themselves  by  cheating  and 
Stealing, 

We  stopped  on  the  fourth  night  at  Enns,  a  small  city  on 
the  river  of  the  same  name,  which  divides  Upper  from 
Lower  Austria.  After  leaving  the  beautiful  little  village 
where  we  passed  the  previous  night,  the  road  ascended  one 
of  those  long  ranges  of  hills,  which  stretch  off  from  the 
Danube  towards  the  Alps,  We  walked  for  miles  over  the 
broad  and  uneven  summit,  enjoying  the  enchanting  view 
which  opened  on  both  sides.  If  we  looked  to  the  right, 
we  could  trace  the  windings  of  the  Danube  for  twenty  miles, 
his  current  studded  with  green,  wooded  islands ;  white  cities 
nestled  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  which,  covered  to  the  summits 
with  grain-fields  and  vineyards,  extended  back  one  behind 
another,  till  the  farthest  were  lost  in  the  distance.  I  was 
glad  we  had  taken  the  way  from  Vienna  to  Linz  by  land, 
for  from  the  heights  we  had  a  view  of  the  whole  course  of 
the  Danube,  enjoying  besides  the  beauty  of  the  inland  vales 
and  the  far-off  Styrian  Alps.  From  the  hills  we  crossed 
we  could  see  the  snowy  range  as  far  as  the  Alps  of  Salzburg 
— some  of  them  seemed  robed  to  the  very  base  in  their  white 
mantles.  In  the  morning  the  glaciers  on  their  summit  glit- 


254 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


tered  like  stars ;  it  was  the  first  time  I  saw  the  sun  reflected 
at  a  hundred  miles’  distance  ! 

On  descending  the  ridge  we  came  into  a  garden-like  plain, 
over  which  rose  the  towers  of  Enns,  built  by  the  ransom- 
money  paid  to  Austria  for  the  deliverance  of  the  lion-hearted 
Richard.  The  country  legends  say  that  St.  Florian  was 
thrown  into  the  river  by  the  Romans  in  the  third  century, 
with  a  millstone  around  his  neck,  which,  however,  held  him 
above  the  water  like  cork,  until  he  had  finished  preaching 
them  a  sermon.  In  the  villages  we  often  saw  his  image 
painted  on  the  houses,  in  the  act  of  pouring  a  pail  of  water 
on  a  burning  building,  with  the  inscription  beneath — “  Oh, 
holy  Florian,  pray  for  us !”  This  was  supposed  to  be  a 
charm  against  fire.  In  Upper  Austria,  it  is  customary  to  erect 
a  shrine  on  the  road,  wherever  an  accident  has  happened, 
with  a  descriptive  painting,  and  an  admonition  to  all  travel¬ 
lers  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  the  unfortunate  person.  On  one 
of  them,  for  instance,  was  a  cart  with  a  wild  ox,  which  a  man 
v/as  holding  by  the  horns ;  a  woman  kneeling  by  the  wheels 
appeared  to  be  drawing  a  little  girl  by  the  feet  from  under 
it,  and  the  inscription  stated :  “By  calling  on  Jesus,  Mary 
and  Joseph,  the  girl  was  happily  rescued.”  Many  of  the 
shrines  had  images  which  the  people  no  doubt,  in  their  igno 
ranee  and  simplicity,  considered  holy,  but  to  us  they  were 
impious  and  almost  blasphemous. 

From  Enns  a  morning’s  walk  brought  us  to  Linz.  The 
peasant  girls  in  their  broad  straw  hats  were  weeding  the 
young  wheat,  looking  as  cheerful  and  contented  as  the  larks 
•  that  sang  above  them.  A  mile  or  two  from  Linz  we  passed 
one  or  two  of  the  round  towers  belonging  to  the  new  fortifi- 


LINZ  AND  ITS  TOWERS. 


255 


cations  of  tlie  city.  As  walls  have  grown  out  of  fashion, 
Duke  Maximilian  substituted  an  invention  of  his  own.  The 
city  is  surrounded  by  thirty-two  towers,  one  to  three  miles 
distant  from  it,  and  so  placed  that  they  form  a  complete  line 
of  communication  and  defence.  They  are  sunk  in  the  earth, 
surrounded  with  a  ditch  and  embankments,  and  each  is  capa¬ 
ble  of  containing  ten  cannon  and  three  hundred  men.  The 
pointed  roofs  of  these  towers  are  seen  on  all  the  hills  around. 
We  were  obliged  to  give  up  our  passports  at  the  barrier,  the 
officer  telling  us  to  call  for  them  in  three  hours  at  the  City 
Police  Office ;  we  spent  the  intervening  time  very  agreeably  in 
rambling  through  the  gay,  cheerful-looking  town.  With  its 
gilded  spires  and  ornamented  houses,  with  their  green  lattice- 
blinds,  it  is  strongly  suggestive  of  Italy.  Although  we  had 
not  exceeded  our  daily  allowance  by  more  than  a  few  kreut- 
zers,  we  found  that  twenty  days  would  be  hardly  sufficient 
to  accomplish  the  journey,  and  our  funds  would  therefore 
need  to  be  replenished  before  we  could  reach  Frankfort. 
Accordingly  I  wrote  from  Linz  to  a  friend  at  Frankfort,  di¬ 
recting  a  small  sum  to  be  forwarded  to  Munich,  which  city  we 
hoped  to  reach  in  eight  days. 

We  took  the  horse  cars  at  Linz  for  Lambach,  seventeen 
miles  on  the  way  towards  Gmunden.  The  mountains  were 
covered  with  clouds  as  we  approached  them,  and  the  storms 
they  had  been  brewing  for  two  or  three  days  began  to  march 
down  on  the  plain.  They  had  nearly  reached  us,  when  we 
crossed  the  Traun  and  arrived  at  Lambach,  a  small  city  built 
upon  a  hill.  We  left  the  next  day  at  noon,  after  the  storm  had 
ceased,  and  on  ascending  the  hill  after  crossing  the  Traun, 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  portrait  on  the  Traunstein, 


256 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  which  the  old  landlord  at  Lambach  told  us.  I  recognized 
it  at  the  first  glance,  and  certainly  it  is  a  most  remarkable 
freak  of  nature.  The  rough  back  of  the  mountain  forms  the 
exact  profile  of  the  human  countenance,  as  if  regularly  hewn 
out  of  the  rock.  "What  is  still  more  singular,  it  is  said  to  be 
a  correct  portrait  of  the  unfortunate  Louis  XVI.  The  land¬ 
lord  said  it  was  immediately  recognized  by  all  Frenchmen. 
The  road  followed  the  course  of  the  Traun, whose  green  waters 
roared  at  the  bottom  of  the  glen  below  us ;  we  walked  for 
several  miles  in  a  fine  forest,  through  whose  openings  we 
caught  glimpses  of  the  mountains  we  longed  to  reach. 

The  river  roared  at  last  somewhat  louder,  and  on  looking 
down  the  bank,  I  saw  rocks  and  rapids,  and  a  few  houses 
built  on  the  edge  of  the  stream.  Thinking  we  must  be  near 
the  celebrated  fall,  we  went  down  the  path,  and  lo  !  on  cross¬ 
ing  a  little  wooden  bridge,  the  whole  affair  burst  in  sight ! 
Judge  of  our  surprise  at  finding  a  cascade  of  fifteen  feet, 
after  we  had  been  led  to  expect  a  tremendous  leap  of  forty 
or  fifty,  with  all  the  accompaniment  of  rocks  and  precipices. 
Of  course  the  whole  descent  of  the  river  at  the  place  was 
much  greater,  and  there  were  some  romantic  rapids  over  the 
rocks  which  blocked  its  course. 

The  Traunstein  grew  higher  as  we  approached,  present¬ 
ing  the  same  profile  until  we  had  nearly  reached  Gmunden. 
From  the  green  upland  meadows  above  the  town,  the  view 
of  the  mountain  range  was  glorious,  and  I  could  easily  con¬ 
ceive  the  effect  of  the  Unknown  Student’s  appeal  to  the 
people  to  fight  for  those  free  hills.  I  think  it  is  Howitt  who 
relates  the  incident — one  of  the  most  romantic  in  German 
history.  Count  Pappenheim  led  his  forces  here  in  the 


BATTLE-FIELD  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  STUDENT.  257 

year  1626,  to  suppress  a  revolution  of  the  people  of  the 
whole  Salzburg  region,  who  had  risen  against  an  invasion  of 
their  rights  by  the  Austrian  government.  The  battle  which 
took  place  on  these  meadows  was  about  being  decided  in 
favor  of  the  oppressors,  when  a  young  man,  clad  as  a  stu¬ 
dent,  suddenly  appeared  and  addressed  the  people,  pointing 
to  the  Alps  above  them  and  the  sweet  lake  below,  and  ask¬ 
ing  if  that  land  should  not  be  free.  The  effect  was  electri¬ 
cal;  they  returned  to  the  charge  and  drove  back  the  troops 
of  Pappenheim,  who  were  about  taking  to  flight,  when  the 

unknown  leader  fell,  mortally  wounded.  This  struck  a  sud- 

_  .  .  »  ,  »  * 

den  panic  through  his  followers,  and  the  Austrians,  turning 
again,  gained  a  complete  victory.  But  the  name  of  the 
brave  student  is  unknown,  his  deed  unsung  by  his  country’s 
bards,  and  almost  forgotten. 


j. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  AUSTRIAN  ALPS. 

The  Lake  of  Gmunden— Among  the  Alps — The  Lumber  Business— ‘The  Baths  of  Ischl 
— St.  "Wolfgang — Climbing  the  Schafberg — Lost — The  Track  of  an  Avalanche- 
Walking  over  a  Forest — Panorama  from  the  Summit — Descent  to  St.  Gilgen — An 
Alpine  Eden— The  Shoemaker  and  his  Wife — “  Footsteps  of  Angels  ' The  Valley 

of  Salzburg — The  Alps — The  Boy  of  the  Mountain — Sights  in  Salzburg — Entering 
Bavaria — People  and  Scenery — Wasserburg — Field  of  Hohenlinden — Arrival  at 
Munich — An  Enthusiastic  Acquaintance. 


It  was  nearly  dark  when  we  came  to  the  end  of  the  plain, 
and  looked  on  the  city  at  our  feet  and  the  lovely  lake  that 
lost  itself  in  the  mountains  before  us.  We  were  early  on 
board  the  steamboat  next  morning,  with  a  cloudless  sky 
above  us  and  a  snow-crested  Alp  beckoning  on  from  the 
end  of  the  lake.  The  water  was  of  the  loveliest  green  hue, 
the  morning  light  colored  the  peaks  around  with  purple,  and 
a  misty  veil  rolled  up  the  rocks  of  the  Traunstein.  We 
stood  on  the  prow  and  enjoyed  to  the  fullest  extent  the 
enchanting  scenery.  The  white  houses  of  Gmunden  sank 
down  to  the  water’s  edge  like  a  flock  of  ducks ;  half-way 
we  passed  castle  Ort,  on  a  rock  in  the  lake,  whose  summit 
is  covered  with  trees. 


AMONG  THE  ALPS. 


259 


As  we  neared  the  other  extremity,  the  mountains  became 
steeper  and  loftier ;  there  was  no  path  along  their  wild 
sides,  nor  even  a  fisher’s  hut  nestled  at  their  feet,  and  the 
snow  filled  the  ravines  more  than  half-way  from  the  summit. 
An  hour  and  a  quarter  brought  us  to  Ebensee,  at  the  head  of 
the  lake,  where  we  landed  and  plodded  on  towards  Ischl,  fol¬ 
lowing  the  Traun  up  a  narrow  valley,  whose  mountain-walls 
shut  out  more  than  half  the  sky.  They  are  covered  with 
forests,  and  the  country  is  inhabited  entirely  by  the  wood¬ 
men  who  fell  the  mountain  pines  and  float  the  timber  rafts 
down  to  the  Danube.  The  steeps  are  marked  with  white 
lines,  where  the  trees  have  been  rolled,  or  rather  tumbled  from 
the  summit.  Often  they  descend  several  miles  over  rocks  and 
precipices,  where  the  least  deviation  from  the  track  would 
dash  them  in  a  thousand  pieces.  This  transportation  is 
generally  accomplished  in  the  winter  when  the  sides  are 
covered  with  snow  and  ice.  It  must  be  a  dangerous  busi¬ 
ness,  for  there  are  many  crosses  by  the  way-side,  where  the 
pictures  represent  persons  accidentally  killed  by  the  trees ; 
an  additional  painting  shows  them  burning  in  the  flames  of 
purgatory,  and  the  pious  traveller  is  requested  to  pray  an 
Ave  or  a  Paternoster  for  the  repose  of  their  souls. 

On  we  went,  up  the  valley  of  the  Traun,  between  moun¬ 
tains  five  and  six  thousand  feet  high,  through  scenes  con¬ 
stantly  changing  and  constantly  grand,  for  three  or  four 
hours.  Finally  the  hills  opened,  disclosing  a  little  triangu¬ 
lar  valley,  whose  base  was  formed  by  a  mighty  mountain 
covered  with  clouds.  Through  the  two  side-angles  came 
the  Traun  and  his  tributary  the  Ischl,  while  the  little  town 
of  Ischl  lay  in  the  centre.  Within  a  few  years  this  has 


260 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


become  a  very  fashionable  bathing-place,  and  the  influx  of 
rich  visitors,  which  in  the  summer  sometimes  amounts  to  two 
thousand,  has  entirely  destroyed  the  primitive  simplicity 
which  the  inhabitants  originally  possessed.  From  Ischl  we 
took  a  road  through  the  forests  to  St.  W olfgang,  on  the  lake 
of  the  same  name.  The  last  part  of  the  way  led  along  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  disclosing  some  delicious  views.  These 
Alpine  lakes  surpass  any  scenery  I  have  yet  seen.  The 
water  is  of  the  most  beautiful  green,  like  a  sheet  of  molten 
beryl,  and  the  cloud-piercing  mountains  that  encompass 
them  shut  out  the  sun  for  nearly  half  the  day.  St.  Wolf¬ 
gang  is  a  lovely  village,  in  a  cool  and  quiet  nook  at  the  foot 
of  the  Schafberg.  The  houses  are  built  in  the  picturesque 
Swiss  style,  with  flat,  projecting  roofs,  and  ornamented  bal¬ 
conies,  and  the  people  are  the  very  picture  of  neatness  and 
cheerfulness. 

W e  started  next  morning  to  ascend  the  Schafberg,  which 
is  called  the  Righi  of  the  Austrian  Switzerland.  It  is  some¬ 
what  higher  than  its  Swiss  namesake,  and  commands  a 
prospect  scarcely  less  extensive  and  grand.  We  followed 
a  footpath  through  the  thick  forest  by  the  side  of  a  roaring 
torrent.  The  morning  mist  still  covered  the  lake,  but  the 
white  summits  of  the  Salzburg  and  Noric  Alps  opposite 
us,  rose  above  it,  and  stood  pure  and  bright  in  the  upper 
air.  W  e  passed  a  little  mill  and  one  or  two  cottages,  and 
then  wound  round  one  of  the  lesser  heights  into  a  deep  ravine, 
down  in  whose  dark  shadow  we  sometimes  heard  the  axe 
and  saw  of  the  mountain  woodmen.  Finally  the  path  dis¬ 
appeared  altogether  under  a  mass  of  logs  and  rocks,  which 
appeared  to  have  been  whirled  together  by  a  sudden  flood. 


CLIMBING  THE  SCHAFBERG. 


261 


We  deliberated  what  to  do;  the  summit  rose  several 
thousand  feet  above  us,  almost  precipitously  steep,  but  we 
did  not  like  to  turn  back,  and  there  was  still  a  hope  of 
meeting  with  the  path  again.  Clambering  over  the  ruins 
and  rubbish,  we  pulled  ourselves  by  the  limbs  of  trees  up  a 
steep  ascent  and  descended  again  to  the  stream.  We  here 
saw  the  ravine  was  closed  by  a  wall  of  rock,  and  our  only 
chance  was  to  cross  to  the  west  side  of  the  mountain,  where 
the  ascent  seemed  somewhat  easier.  A  couple  of  mountain 
maidens  whom  we  fortunately  met,  carrying  home  grass  for 
their  goats,  told  us  the  mountain  could  be  ascended  on  that 
side,  by  one  who  could  climb  well — laying  a  strong  emphasis 
on  the  word.  The  very  doubt  implied  in  this  expression 
was  enough  to  decide  us ;  so  we  began  the  work.  And 
work  it  was,  too  i  The  side  was  very  steep,  the  trees  all 
leaned  downwards,  and  we  slipped  at  every  step  on  the  dry 
leaves  and  grass.  After  making  a  short  distance  this  way 
with  the  greatest  labor,  we  came  to  the  track  of  an  ava¬ 
lanche,  which  had  swept  away  the  trees  and  earth.  Here 
the  rock  had  been  worn  rough  by  torrents,  but  by  using 
both  hands  and  feet,  we  climbed  the  precipitous  side  of  the 
mountain,  sometimes  dragging  ourselves  up  by  the  branches 
of  trees  where  the  rocks  were  smooth.  After  half  an  hour 
of  such  work  we  came  above  the  forests,  on  the  bare  side  of 
the  mountain.  The  summit  was  far  above  us,  and  so  steep 
that  our  limbs  involuntarily  shrank  from  the  task  of  climbing. 
The  side  sloped  at  an  angle  of  nearly  sixty  degrees,  and  the 
least  slip  threw  us  flat  on  our  faces.  We  had  to  use  both 
hand  and  foot,  and  were  obliged  to  rest  every  few  minutes 
to  recover  breath.  Crimson-flowered  moss  and  bright  blue 


262 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


gentians  covered  the  rocks,  and  I  filled  my  books  with 
blossoms  for  friends  at  home. 

Up  and  up,  for  what  seemed  an  age,  we  clambered.  So 

* 

steep  was  it,  that  the  least  rocky  projection  hid  my  friend 
from  sight,  as  he  was  climbing  below  me.  I  sometimes 
started  stones,  which  went  down,  down,  like  cannon-balls, 
till  I  could  see  them  no  more.  At  length  we  reached  the 
region  of  dwarf  pines,  which  was  even  more  difficult  to  pass 
through.  Although  the  mountain  was  not  so  steep,  this 
forest,  centuries  old,  reached  no  higher  than  our  breasts, 
and  the  trees  leaned  downwards,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to 
take  hold  of  the  tops  of  those  above  us,  and  drag  ourselves 
over  the  others.  Here  and  there  lay  large  patches  of  snow ; 
we  sat  down  in  the  glowing  J une  sun,  and  bathed  our  hands 
and  faces  in  it.  Finally,  the  sky  became  bluer  and  broader, 
the  clouds  seemed  nearer,  and  a  few  more  steps  through  the 
bushes  brought  us  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  on  the 
edge  of  a  precipice  a  thousand  feet  deep,  whose  bottom  stood 
in  a  vast  field  of  snow  ! 

We  lay  down  on  the  heather,  exhausted  by  five  hours’ 
incessant  toil,  and  drank  in,  like  a  refreshing  draught,  the 
sublimity  of  the  scene.  The  green  lakes  of  the  Salzburg 
Alps  lay  far  below  us,  and  the  whole  southern  horizon  was 
filled  with  the  mighty  range  of  the  Styrian  and  Noric  Alps, 
their  summits  of  never-melting  snow  mingling  and  blending 
with  the  clouds.  On  the  other  side  the  mountains  of  Salz¬ 
burg  lifted  their  ridgy  backs  from  the  plains  of  Bavaria,  and 
the  Chiem  lake  lay  spread  out  in  the  blue  distance.  A  line 
of  mist  far  to  the  north  betrayed  the  path  of  the  Danube, 
and  beyond  it  we  could  barely  trace  the  outline  of  the  Bo« 


DESCENT  TO  ST.  GILGEN. 


263 


hemian  mountains.  With  a  glass  the  spires  of  Munich,  one 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  distant,  can  be  seen.  It  was  a 
view  whose  grandeur  I  can  never  forget.  In  that  dome 
of  the  cloud  we  seemed  to  breathe  a  purer  air  than  that  of 
earth. 

After  an  hour  or  two,  we  began  to  think  of  descending, 
as  the  path  was  yet  to  be  found.  The  summit,  which  was  a 
mile  or  more  in  length,  extended  farther  westward,  and  by 
climbing  over  the  dwarf  pines  for  some  time,  we  saw  a  little 
wooden  house  above  us.  It  stood  near  the  highest  part  of 
the  peak,  and  two  or  three  men  were  engaged  in  repairing 
it,  as  a  shelter  for  travellers.  They  pointed  out  the  path 
which  went  down  on  the  side  toward  St.  Gilgen,  and  we 
began  descending.  The  mountain  on  this  side  is  much  less 
steep,  but  the  descent  is  fatiguing  enough.  The  path  led 
along  the  side  of  a  glen  where  mountain  goats  were  grazing, 
and  further  down  we  saw  cattle  feeding  on  the  little  spots  of 
herbage  which  lay  in  the  forest.  My  knees  became  so  weak 
from  this  continued  descent,  that  they  would  scarcely  sup¬ 
port  me ;  but  we  were  three  hours,  partly  walking  and 
partly  running  down,  before  we  reached  the  bottom.  Half 
an  hour’s  walk  around  the  head  of  the  St.  Wolfgang  See, 
brought  us  to  the  little  village  of  St.  Gilgen, 

The  valley  of  St.  Gilgen  lies  like  a  little  paradise  between 
the  mountains.  Lovely  green  fields  and  woods  slope  gradu¬ 
ally  from  the  mountain  behind,  to  the  still  greener  lake 
spread  out  before  it,  in  whose  bosom  the  white  Alps  are 
mirrored.  Its  picturesque  cottages  cluster  around  the  neat 
church  with  its  lofty  spire,  and  the  simple  inhabitants  have 
countenances  as  bright  and  cheerful  as  the  blue  sky  above 


264 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


them*  We  breathed  an  air  of  poetry.  The  Arcadian  sim¬ 
plicity  of  the  people,  the  pastoral  beauty  of  the  fields  around 
and  the  grandeur  of  the  mountains  which  shut  it  out  from 
the  world,  realized  my  ideas  of  a  dwelling-place,  where, 
with  a  few  kindred  spirits,  the  bliss  of  Eden  might  almost 
be  restored. 

We  stopped  there  two  or  three  hours  to  relieve  our  hunger 
and  fatigue.  My  boots  had  suffered  severely  in  our  moun¬ 
tain  adventure,  and  I  called  at  a  shoemaker’s  cottage  to  get 
them  repaired.  I  sat  down  and  talked  for  half  an  hour 
with  the  family.  The  man  and  his  wife  spoke  of  the  delight¬ 
ful  scenery  around  them,  and  expressed  themselves  with 
correctness  and  even  elegance.  They  were  much  pleased 
that  I  admired  their  village  so  greatly,  and  related  every 
thing  which  they  supposed  could  interest  me.  As  I  rose  to 
go,  my  head  nearly  touched  the  ceiling,  whicli  was  very 
low.  The  man  exclaimed  :  “  Ach  Gott !  how  tall  1”  I  told 
him  the  people  were  all  tall  in  our  country  •  he  then  asked 
where  I  came  from,  and  I  had  no  sooner  said  “  America,” 
than  he  threw  up  his  hands  and  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  the 
greatest  surprise.  His  wife  observed  that  “  it  was  wonder¬ 
ful  how  far  man  was  permitted  to  travel.”  They  wished 
me  a  prosperous  journey  and  a  safe  return  home. 

St.  Gilgen  was  also  interesting  to  me  from  that  beautiful 
chapter  in  “Hyperion” — “Footsteps  of  Angels,” — and  on 
passing  the  church  on  my  way  back  to  the  inn,  I  entered 
the  grave-yard  mentioned  in  it.  The  green  turf  grows  thick¬ 
ly  over  the  rows  of  mounds,  with  here  and  there  a  rose 
planted  by  the  hand  of  affection,  and  the  white  crosses  were 
hung  with  wreaths,  some  of  which  had  been  freshly  added 


265 


lt  FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS.'’ 


Behind  the  ehnrch,  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  stood  a  small 
chapel :  I  opened  the  unfastened  door,  and  entered.  The 
afternoon  sun  shone  through  the  side  window,  and  all  was 
still  around.  A  little  shrine,  adorned  with  flowers,  stood  at 

k  ■  •  »  .  '  ....  >, 

* 

the  other  end,  and  there  were  two  tablets  on  the  wall,  to 
persons  who  slumbered  beneath.  I  approached  these  and 
read  on  one  of  them  with  feelings  not  easily  described  ;  “  Look 
*  not  mournfully  into  the  past — it  comes  not  again ;  wisely 
improve  the  present — it  is  thine  ;  and  go  forward  to  meet  the 
shadowy  future,  without  fear,  and  with  a  manly  heart  !” 
This  then  was  the  spot  where  Paul  Flemming  came  in  lone* 
liness  and  sorrow  to  muse  over  what  he  had  lost,  and  these 
were  the  words  whose  truth  and  eloquence  strengthened  and 
consoled  him,  “  as  if  the  unknown  tenant  of  the  grave  had 
opened  his  lips  of  dust  and  spoken  the  words  of  consola¬ 
tion  his  soul  needed.” 

We  reached  a  little  village  on  the  Fuschel  See,  the  same 

^  't 

evening,  and  set  off  the  next  morning  for  Salzburg.  The 


day  was  hot  and  we  walked  slowly,  so  that  it  was  not  until 
two  o’clock  that  we  saw  the  castellated  rocks  on  the  side  of 


the  Gaissberg,  guarding  the  entrance  to  the  valley  of  Salz¬ 
burg.  A  short  distance  further,  the  whole  glorious  pano- 

*  ‘  ^  \ 

rama  was  spread  out  below  us.  From  the  height  on  which 
we  stood,  we  looked  directly  on  the  summit  of  the  Capuchin 
Mountain,  which  hid  part  of  the  city  from  sight ;  the  double 
peak  of  the  Staufen  rose  opposite,  and  a  heavy  storm  was 
raging  along  the  Alpine  heights  around  it,  while  the  lovely 
valley  lay  in  sunshine  below,  threaded  by  the  bright  current 
of  the  Salza.  As  we  descended  and  passed  around  the  foot 

of  the  hill,  the  Lntersberg  came  in  sight,  whose  broad  sum- 

12 


2G6 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


mits  lift  themselves  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  plain. 
The  legend  says  that  Charlemagne  and  his  warriors  sit  in 
its  subterraneous  caverns  in  complete  armor,  and  that  they 
will  arise  and  come  forth  again,  when  Germany  recovers 
her  former  power  and  glory. 

I  wish  I  could  convey  in  words  some  idea  of  the  elevation 
of  spirit  experienced  while  looking  on  these  eternal  moun¬ 
tains.  They  fill  the  soul  with  a  sensation  of  power  and  * 
grandeur  which  frees  it  awhile  from  the  cramps  and  fetters 
of  common  life.  It  rises  and  expands  to  the  level  of  their 
sublimity,  until  its  thoughts  soar  solemnly  aloft,  like  their 
summits,  piercing  the  heart  of  heaven.  Their  dazzling  and 
imperishable  beauty  is  to  the  mind  an  image  of  its  own 
enduring  existence.  When  I  stand  upon  some  snowy  summit 
— the  invisible  apex  of  that  mighty  pyramid — there  seems  a 
majesty  in  my  weak  will  wThich  might  defy  the  elements. 
This  sense  of  power,  inspired  by  a  silent  sympathy  with  the 
forms  of  Nature,  is  beautifully  described — as  shown  in  the 
free,  unconscious  instincts  of  childhood — by  the  poet  U hland, 
in  his  ballad  of  the  “  Mountain  Boy.” 

* 

A  herd-boy  on  the  mountain’s  brow, 

I  see  the  castles  all  below. 

The  sunbeam  here  is  earliest  cast 
And  by  my  side  it  lingers  last — 

I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain  I 

The  mother-house  of  streams  is  here— 

I  drink  them  in  their  cradles  clear; 

From  out  the  rock  they  foam  below, 

I  spring  to  catch  them  as  they  go ! 

I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain ! 


THE  MOUNTAIN  BOY. 


26? 


To  me  belongs  the  mountain’s  bound, 

Where  gathering  tempests  march  around; 

But  though  from  north  and  south  they  shout, 

Above  them  still  my  song  rings  out — 
u  I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain !  * 

Below  me  clouds  and  thunders  move; 

I  stand  amid  the  blue  above, 

I  shout  to  them  with  fearless  breast ; 

“  Go  leave  my  father’s  house  in  rest !” 

I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain  I 

i 

And  when  the  loud  bell  shakes  the  spires 
And  flame  aloft  the  signal-fires, 

I  go  below  and  join  the  throng, 

And  swing  my  sword  and  sing  my  song : 
u  I  am  the  boy  of  the  mountain !” 

Salzburg  lies  on  both  sides  of  the  Salza,  hemmed  in  on 
either  bend  by  precipitous  mountains.  A  large  fortress 
overlooks  it  on  the  south,  from  the  summit  of  a  perpendicu¬ 
lar  rock,  against  which  the  houses  in  that  part  of  the  city 
are  built.  The  streets  are  narrow  and  crooked,  but  the 
newer  part  contains  many  open  squares  adorned  with  hand¬ 
some  fountains.  The  variety  of  costume  among  the  people 
is  very  interesting.  The  inhabitants  of  the  salt  district  have 
a  peculiar  dress ;  the  women  wear  round  fur  caps,  with 
little  wings  of  gauze  at  the  side.  I  saw  other  women  with 
head-dresses  of  gold  or  silver  filigree,  something  in  shape 
like  a  Roman  helmet,  with  a  projection  at  the  back  of  the 
head,  a  foot  long.  The  most  interesting  objects  in  Salzburg 
to  us,  were  the  house  of  Mozart,  in  which  the  composer  was 
born,  and  the  monument  lately  erected  to  him.  The  St. 


268 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Peter’s  Church,  near  by,  contains  the  tomb  of  Haydn,  the 
great  composer,  and  the  Church  of  St.  Sebastian  that  of  the 
renowned  Paracelsus,  who  was  also  a  native  of  Salzburg. 

Two  or  three  hours  sufficed  to  see  every  thing  of  interest 
in  the  city.  We  had  intended  to  go  further  through  the 
Alps,  to  the  beautiful  vales  of  the  Tyrol,  but  our  time  was 
getting  short ;  our  boots,  which  are  the  pedestrian’s  sole  de¬ 
pendence,  began  to  show  symptoms  of  wearing  out ;  and  our 
expenses  among  the  lakes  and  mountains  of  Upper  Austria, 
left  us  but  two  florins  apiece,  so  we  reluctantly  turned  our 
backs  upon  the  snowy  hills  and  set  out  for  Munich,  ninety 
miles  distant.  After  passing  the  night  at  Saalbruck,  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream  which  separates  the  two  kingdoms,  we 
entered  Bavaria  next  morning.  I  could  not  help  feeling 
glad  to  leave  Austria,  although  within  her  bounds  I  had 
passed  scenes  whose  beauty  will  long  haunt  me,  and  met 
with  many  honest,  friendly  hearts  among  her  people.  We 
noticed  a  change  as  soon  as  we  had  crossed  the  border. 
The  roads  were  neater  and  handsomer,  and  the  country 
people  greeted  us  in  passing,  with  a  friendly  cheerfulness  that 
made  us  feel  half  at  home.  The  houses  are  built  in  the 
picturesque  Swiss  fashion,  their  balconies  often  ornamented 
with  curious  figures,  carved  in  wood.  Many  of  them,  where 
they  are  situated  remote  from  a  church,  have  a  little  bell  on 
the  roof  which  they  ring  for  morning  and  evening  prayers, 
and  we  often  heard  these  simple  monitors  sounding  from  the 
cottages  as  we  passed  by. 

The  next  night  we  stopped  at  the  little  village  of  Stein, 
famous  in  former  times  for  its  robber  knight,  Hans  von  Stein 
The  ruins  of  his  castle  stand  on  the  rock  above,  and  the 


THE  FIELD  OF  HOHENLINDEN. 


269 


caverns  hewn  in  the  sides  of  the  precipice,  where  he  used 
to  confine  his  prisoners,  are  still  visible.  Walking  on  through 
a  pleasant,  well-cultivated  country,  we  came  to  Wasserburg, 
on  the  Inn,  The  situation  of  the  city  is  peculiar.  The  Inn 
has  gradually  worn  his  channel  deeper  in  the  sandy  soil,  so 
that  he  now  flows  at  the  bottom  of  a  glen,  a  hundred  feet 
below  the  plains  around.  W asserburg  lies  in  a  basin  formed 
by  the  change  of  the  current,  which  flows  around  it  like  a 
horse-shoe,  leaving  only  a  narrow  neck  of  land  which  con¬ 
nects  it  with  the  country  above. 

We  left  the  little  village  where  we  were  quartered  for 
the  night  and  took  a  foot-path  which  led  across  the  country 
to  the  field  of  Hohenlinden,  about  six  miles  distant.  The 
name  had  been  familiar  to  me  from  childhood,  and  my  love 
for  Campbell,  with  the  recollection  of  the  sehool-exhibitions 
where  “  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low  ”  had  been  so 
often  declaimed,  induced  me  to  make  the  excursion  to  it. 

We  traversed  a  large  forest,  belonging  to  the  King  of  Bava- 

»  % 

ria,  and  came  out  on  a  plain  covered  with  grain-fields  and 
bounded  on  the  right  by  a  semicircle  of  low  hills.  Over 
the  fields,  about  two  miles  distant,  a  tall  minaret-like  spire 
rose  from  a  small  cluster  of  houses,  and  this  was  Hohenlin- 
den  !  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  been  expecting  something 
more.  The  “  hills  of  blood-stained  snow  ”  are  very  small 
hills  indeed,  and  the  “  Isar  rolling  rapidly,  ”  is  several  miles 
off ;  it  was  the  spot,  however,  and  we  recited  Campbell’s 
poem,  of  course,  and  brought  away  a  few  wild  flowers  as 
memorials.  There  is  no  monument  or  any  other  token  of 
the  battle,  and  the  people  seem  to  have  already  forgotten  the 
scene  of  Moreau’s  victory  and  tlieir  defeat. 


270 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


From  a  hill  twelve  miles  off  we  had  our  first  view  of  the 
spires  of  Munich,  like  distant  ships  over  the  sea-like  plain* 
They  kept  in  sight  until  we  arrived  at  eight  o’clock  in  the 
evening,  after  a  walk  of  more  than  thirty  miles.  We  cross¬ 
ed  the  rapid  Isar  on  three  bridges,  entered  the  magnificent 
Isar  Gate,  and  were  soon  comfortably  quartered  in  the  heart 
of  Munich.  Entering  the  city  without  knowing  a  single 
soul  within  it,  we  made  within  a  few  minutes  an  agreeable 
acquaintance.  After  we  passed  the  Isar  Gate,  we  began 
looking  for  .  a  decent  inn,  for  the  day’s  walk  had  been 
fatiguing.  Presently  a  young  man,  who  had  been  watching 
us  for  some  time,  came  up,  and  said  that  if  we  would  allow 
him,  he  would  conduct  us  to  a  good  lodging-place.  Finding 
we  were  strangers,  he  expressed  the  greatest  regret  that  he 
had  not  time  to  go  with  us  every  day  around  the  city.  Our 
surprise  and  delight  at  the  splendor  of  Munich,  he  said, 
would  more  than  repay  him  for  the  trouble.  In  his  anxiety 
to  show  us  something,  he  took  us  some  distance  out  of  the 
way,  (although  it  was  growing  dark  and  we  were  very 
tired,)  to  see  the  Palace  and  the  Theatre,  with  its  front  of 
rich  frescoes. 


The  Splendor  of  Munich — King  Ludwig’s  Labors— The  Ludwigstrasse— The  Library 
— The  Church  of  St.  Louis — Monument  to  Eugene  Beauharnois — The  Parks  on  the 
Isar — The  New  Residence — Magnificence  of  its  Halls — Hall  of  the  Throne — The 
King’s  Apartments — The  Royal  Chapel — A  Picture  of  Devotion — The  Glyptothek 
— Its  Sculptures — The  Son  of  Niobe — The  Pinacothek — A  Giant — The  Basilica— 
Schwan thaler’s  Studio — History  of  an  Artisan— Condition  of  our  Finances. 

Munich,  June  14,  1845. 

I  thought  I  had  seen  every  thing  in  Vienna  that  could 
excite  admiration  or  gratify  fancy  ;  but  here  I  have  my 
former  sensations  to  live  over  again,  in  an  augmented  degree. 
It  is  well  I  was  at  first  somewhat  prepared  by  our  previous 
travel,  otherwise  the  glare  and  splendor  of  wealth  and  art 
in  this  German  Athens  might  blind  me  to  the  beauties  of  the 
cities  we  shall  yet  visit.  I  have  been  walking  in  a  dream 
where  the  fairy  tales  of  boyhood  were  realized,  and  the 
golden  and  jewelled  halls  of  the  Eastern  genii  rose  glittering 
around  me — a  vision  of  the  brain  no  more.  All  I  had  con¬ 
ceived  of  oriental  magnificence,  all  descriptions  of  the  splen¬ 
dor  of  kingly  halls  and  palaces,  fall  short  of  what  I  here 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


972 

see.  Where  shall  I  begin  to  describe  the  crowd  of  splendid 
edifices  that  line  its  streets,  or  how  give  an  idea  of  the  pro¬ 
fusion  of  paintings  and  statues — of  marble,  jasper  and  gold  ? 

Art  has  done  every  thing  for  Munich.  It  lies  on  a  large, 
fiat  plain,  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  continually 
exposed  to  the  cold  winds  from  the  Alps.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  present  century  it  was  but  a  third-rate  city,  and  was 
rarely  visited  by  foreigners.  Since  that  time  its  population 
and  limits  have  been  doubled,  and  magnificent  edifices 
in  every  style  of  -architecture  erected,  rendering  it  scarcely 
secondary  in  this  respect  to  any  capital  in  Europe.  Every 
art  that  wealth  or  taste  could  devise,  seems  to  have  been  spent 
in  its  decoration.  Broad,  spacious  streets  and  squares  have 
been  laid  out,  churches,  halls  and  colleges  erected,  and 
schools  of  painting  and  sculpture  established,  which  draw 
artists  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  All  this  is  the  result  of 
the  taste  of  the  present  king,  Ludwig  I.,  who  began  twenty 
or  thirty  years  ago,  when  he  was  Crown  Prince,  to  collect 
the  best  German  artists  around  him  and  form  plans  for  the 
execution  of  his  grand  design.  He  can  boast  of  having 
done  more  for  the  arts  than  any  other  living  monarch,  and 
if  he  had  accomplished  it  all  without  oppressing  his  people, 
he  would  deserve  an  immortality  of  fame. 

Let  us  take  a  stroll  down  the  Ludwigstrasse.  As  we  pass 
the  Theatiner  Church,  with  its  dome  and  towers,  the  broad 
street  opens  before  us,  stretching  away  to  the  north,  between 
rows  of  magnificent  buildings.  Just  at  this  southern  end, 
is  the  Schlusshalle ,  an  open  temple  of  white  marble,  terminat¬ 
ing  the  avenue.  To  the  right  of  us  extend  the  arcades, 
with  the  trees  of  the  Royal  Garden  peeping  above  them ; 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


273 


on  the  left  is  the  spacious  concert  building  of  the  Odeon, 
and  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  Leuchtenberg,  son  of  Eugene 
Beauharnois.  Passing  through  a  row  of  palace-like  private 
buildings,  we  come  to  the  Army  Department,  on  the  right — 
a  neat  and  tasteful  building  of  white  sandstone.  Beside  it 
stands  the  Library,  which  possesses  the  first  special  claim  on 
our  admiration.  With  its  splendid  front  of  five  hundred 
and  eighteen  feet,  the  yellowish  brown  cement  with  which 
the  body  is  covered,  making  an  agreeable  contrast  with  the 
dark  red  window-arches  and  cornices,  and  the  statues  of 
Homer,  Hippocrates,  Thucydides  and  Aristotle  guarding  the 
portal,  is  it  not  a  worthy  receptacle  for  the  treasures  of 
ancient  and  modern  lore  which  its  halls  contain  ? 

Nearly  opposite  stands  the  Institute  for  the  Blind,  a  plain 
but  large  building  of  dark  red  brick,  covered  with  cement, 

4 

and  further,  the  Ludwig’s  Kirche,  or  Church  of  St.  Louis. 
How  lightly  the  two  square  towers  of  gray  marble  lift  their 
network  of  sculpture !  Over  the  arched  portal  stand  marble 
statues  by  Schwanthaler,  and  the  roof  of  brilliant  tiles 
worked  into  mosaic,  resembles  a  rich  Turkey  carpet  covering 
the  whole.  We  must  enter,  to  get  an  idea  of  the  splendor  of 
this  church.  Instead  of  the  pointed  arch  which  one  would 
expect  to  find  above  his  head,  the  lofty  pillars  on  each  side 
bear  an  unbroken  semicircular  vault,  which  is  painted  a 
brilliant  blue,  and  spangled  with  silver  stars.  These  pillars, 
and  the  little  arches  above,  which  spring  from  them,  are 
illuminated  with  gold  and  brilliant  colors,  and  each  side- 
chapel  is  a  casket  of  richness  and  elegance.  The  windows 
are  of  silvered  glass,  through  which  the  light  glimmers  softly 

on  the  splendor  within.  The  end  of  the  chancel  behind  tlio 

12* 


274 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


high  altar,  is  taken  up  with  Cornelius’s  celebrated  fresco 
painting  of  the  “  Last  Judgment,” — the  largest  painting  in 
the  world— and  the  circular  dome  in  the  centre  of  the  cross 
contains  groups  of  martyrs,  prophets,  saints,  and  kings, 
painted  in  fresco  on  a  ground  of  gold.  The  work  of  Cor¬ 
nelius  has  been  greatly  praised  for  sublimity  of  design  and 
beauty  of  execution,  by  many  acknowledged  judges  ;  I  was 
disappointed  in  it,  but  the  fault  possibly  lay  in  me,  and  not 
in  the  painting.  The  richness  and  elegance  of  the  church 
were  so  new  to  me,  that  I  can  scarcely  decide  whether  I  am 
impressed  by  its  novelty  or  charmed  by  its  beauty. 

As  we  leave  the  church  and  walk  further,  the  street  expands 
suddenly  into  a  broad  square.  One  side  is  formed  by  the  new 
University  building,  and  the  other  by  the  Royal  Seminary, 
both  displaying  in  their  architecture  new  forms  of  the  grace¬ 
ful  Byzantine  school,  which  the  architects  of  Munich  have 
adapted  in  a  striking  manner  to  so  many  varied  purposes. 
On  each  side  stands  a  splendid  colossal  fountain  of  bronze, 
throwing  up  a  great  mass  of  water,  which  falls  in  a  triple 
cataract  to  the  marble  basin  below.  A  short  distance 
beyond  this  square  the  Ludwigstrasse  terminates.  The  end 
will  be  closed  by  a  magnificent  gate,  in  a  style  to  correspond 
with  the  unequalled  avenue  to  which  it  wfill  give  entrance. 

T7e  went  one  morning  to  see  the  collection  of  paintings 
formerly  belonging  to  Eugene  Beauliarnois,  who  was 
brother-in-law  to  the  present  king  of  Bavaria,  in  the  palace 
of  his  son,  the  Duke  of  Leuchtenberg.  M"e  have  since  seen 
in  the  St.  Michael’s  Church,  the  monument  to  Eugene,  from 
the  chisel  of  Thorwaldsen.  The  noble  figure  of  the  son  of 
Josephine  is  represented  in  the  Roman  mantle,  with  his 


THE  PARKS  OK  THE  ISAR. 


275 


helmet  and  sword  lying  on  the  ground  beside  him.  On  one 
side  sits  History,  writing  on  a  tablet ;  on  the  other,  stand 
the  two  brother-angels,  Death  and  Immortality.  They  lean 
lovingly  together,  with  arms  around  each  other,  but  the 
sweet  countenance  of  Death  has  a  cast  of  sorrow,  as  he 
stands  with  inverted  torch  and  a  wreath  of  poppies  among 
his  clustering  locks.  Immortality,  crowned  with  never- 
fading  flowers,  looks  upwards  with  a  smile  of  triumph,  and 
holds  in  one  hand  his  blazing  torch.  It  is  a  beautiful  idea, 
and  Thorwaldsen  has  made  the  marble  eloquent  with  feeling. 

The  inside  of  the  square  formed  by  the  Arcades  and  the 
New  Residence,  is  filled  with  noble  old  trees,  which  in  sum¬ 
mer  make  a  leafy  roof  over  the  pleasant  walks.  Passing 
through  the  northern  Arcade,  one  comes  into  the  magnificent 
park,  called  the  English  Garden,  which  extends  more  than 
four  miles  along  the  bank  of  the  Isar,  several  branches  of 
whose  milky  current  wander  through  it,  and  form  one  or  two 
pretty  cascades.  It  is  a  beautiful  alternation  of  forest  and 
meadow,  and  has  all  the  richness  and  garden-like  luxuriance 
of  English  scenery.  Winding  walks  lead  along  the  Isar,  or 
through  the  wood  of  venerable  oaks,  and  sometimes  a  lawn 
of  half  a  mile  in  length,  with  a  picturesque  temple  at  its 
farther  end,  comes  in  sight  through  the  trees.  I  was 
better  pleased  with  this  park  than  with  the  Prater  in  Vienna. 
Its  paths  are  always  filled  with  persons  enjoying  the  change 
from  the  dusty  streets  to  its  quiet  and  cool  retirement. 

The  New  Residence  is  not  only  one  of  the  wonders  of 
Munich,  but  of  the  world.  Although  commenced  in  1826  and 
carried  on  constantly  since  that  time  by  a  number  of  architects, 
sculptors,  and  painters,  it  is  not  yet  finished;  and  if  Art 


276 


VIEWS  A-FOOT 


were  not  inexhaustible,  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  wbat 
more  could  be  added.  The  north  side  of  the  Max  Joseph 
Platz  is  taken  up  by  its  front  of  four  hundred  and  thirty 
feet,  which  was  nine  years  in  building,  under  the  direction 
of  the  architect  Klenze.  The  exterior  is  copied  after  the 
Palazzo  Pitti,  in  Florence.  The  northern  front,  which  faces 
on  the  Royal  Garden,  is  now  nearly  finished.  It  has  the 
enormous  length  of  eight  hundred  feet ;  in  the  middle  is  a 
portico  of  ten  Ionic  columns,  but  instead  of  supporting  a 
triangular  fagade,  each  pillar  stands  separate,  and  bears  a 
marble  statue  from  the  chisel  of  Sch  wan  thaler. 

The  interior  of  the  building  does  not  disappoint  the  pro¬ 
mise  of  the  outside.  It  is  open  every  afternoon  in  the  absence 
of  the  king,  for  the  inspection  of  visitors  ;  fortunately  for  us, 
his  majesty  is  at  present  on  a  journey  through  his  provinces 
.  an  the  Rhine.  We  went  early  to  the  waiting  hall,  where 
several  travellers  were  already  assembled,  and  at  four  o’clock, 
were  admitted  into  the  newer  part  of  the  palace,  containing 
the  throne  hall,  ball-room,  etc.  On  entering  the  first  hall, 
designed  for  the  lackeys  and  royal  servants,  we  were  all 
obliged  to  thrust  our  feet  into  cloth  slippers  to  walk  over  the 
polished  mosaic  floor.  The  second  hall,  also  for  servants, 
gives  tokens  of  increasing  splendor  in  the  richer  decorations 
of  the  walls  and  the  more  elaborate  mosaic  of  the  floor.  We 
next  entered  the  receiving  saloon,  in  which  the  Court  Mar¬ 
shal  receives  the  guests.  The  ceiling  is  of  arabesque  sculp¬ 
ture,  profusely  painted  and  gilded.  Passing  through  a  little 
cabinet,  we  entered  the  great  dancing  saloon.  Its  floor  is 
the  richest  mosaic  of  wood  of  different  colors,  the  sides  are 
of  polished  scagliola,  and  the  ceiling  a  dazzling  blaze  of 


THE  THRONE  HALL. 


277 


colors  and  gold.  At  one  end  is  a  gallery  for  the  orchestra, 
supported  by  six  columns  of  variegated  marble,  above  which 
are  six  dancing  nymphs,  painted  to  represent  life. 

We  next  entered  two  smaller  rooms  containing  the  por¬ 
traits  of  beautiful  women,  principally  from  the  German  no¬ 
bility.  I  gave  the  preference  to  the  daughter  of  Marco 
Bozzaris,  now  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen  of  Greece.  She 
had  a  wild  dark  eye,  a  beautiful  proud  lip,  and  her  rich 
black  hair  rolled  in  glossy  waves  down  her  neck,  from  under 
the  red  Grecian  cap  stuck  jauntily  on  the  side  of  her  head. 
She  wore  a  scarf  and  close-fitting  vest  embroidered  with  gold, 
and  there  was  a  free  lofty  spirit  in  her  countenance  worthy 
the  name  she  bore.  These  pictures  form  a  gallery  of  beauty, 
whose  equal  cannot  easily  be  found. 

Finally  we  entered  the  Hall  of  the  Throne.  Here  the 
encaustic  decoration,  so  plentifully  employed  in  the  other 
rooms,  is  dropped,  and  an  effect  even  more  brilliant  obtained 
by  the  simple  use  of  marble  and  gold.  Picture  a  long  hall 
with  a  floor  of  polished  marble,  on  each  side  twelve  columns 
of  white  marble  with  gilded  capitals,  between  which  stand 
colossal  statues  of  gold.  At  the  other  end  is  the  throne  of 
gold  and  crimson,  with  gorgeous  hangings  of  crimson  velvet. 
The  twelve  statues  in  the  hall  are  called  the  “  Wittelsbach 
Ancestors,”  and  represent  renowned  members  of  the  house 
of  Wittelsbach,  from  which  the  royal  family  of  Bavaria  is 
descended.  They  were  cast  in  bronze  by  Stiglmaier,  after 
the  models  of  Schwanthaler,  and  then  completely  covered 
with  a  coating  of  gold,  so  that  they  resemble  solid  golden 
statues.  The  value  of  the  precious  metal  on  each  one  is 
about  $3,000,  as  they  are  nine  feet  in  height !  What  would 


278 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  politicians  who  make  such  an  outcry  about  the  papering 
of  the  President’s  House,  say  to  such  a  palace  as  this  ? 

Returning  to  the  starting  point,  we  crossed  to  the  other 
wing  of  the  edifice  and  joined  the  party  who  came  to  visit 
the  apartments  of  the  king.  Here  we  were  led  through  two 
or  three  rooms,  appropriated  to  the  servants,  with  all  the 
splendor  of  marble  doors,  floors  of  mosaic,  and  frescoed 
ceilings.  From  these  we  entered  the  king’s  apartments. 
The  entrance  halls  are  decorated  with  paintings  of  the  Ar¬ 
gonauts  and  illustrations  of  the  Hymns  of  Hesiod,  after 
drawings  by  Sch  wan  thaler.  Then  came  the  Service  Hall 
containing  frescoes  illustrating  Homer,  by  Schnorr,  and  the 
Throne  Hall,  with  Schwanthaler’s  bas-reliefs  of  the  songs  of 
Pindar,  on  a  ground  of  gold.  The  throne  stands  under  a 
splendid  crimson  canopy.  The  Dining  Room,  with  its  floor 
of  polished  wood,  is  filled  with  illustrations  of  the  songs  of 
Anacreon.  To  these  follow  the  Dressing  Room,  with  twen¬ 
ty-seven  illustrations  of  the  Comedies  of  Aristophanes,  and 
the  sleeping  chamber  with  frescoes  after  the  poems  of  Theo¬ 
critus,  and  two  beautiful  bas-reliefs  representing  angels 
bearing  children  to  Heaven.  It  is  no  wonder  the  King 
writes  poetry,  when  he  breathes,  eats,  and  sleeps  in  an  atmo¬ 
sphere  of  it. 

Adjoining  the  new  residence  on  the  east,  is  the  Royal 
Chapel,  lately  finished  in  the  Byzantine  style,  under  the 
direction  of  Klenze.  To  enter  it,  is  like  stepping  into  a 
casket  of  jewels.  The  sides  are  formed  by  a  double  range 
of  arches,  the  windows  being  so  far  back  as  to  be  almost  out 

t 

of  sight,  so  that  the  eye  falls  on  nothing  but  coloring  and 
gold.  The  lower  row  of  arches  is  of  alternate  green  and 


THE  ROYAL  CHAPEL 


279 


purple  marble,  beautifully  polished ;  but  tbe  upper,  as  well 
as  tbe  small  cliancel  behind  the  high  altar,  is  entirely  covered 
with  fresco  paintings  on  a  ground  of  gold.  The  richness  and 
splendor  of  the  whole  church  is  absolutely  incredible.  Even 
after  one  has  seen  the  Ludwig’s  Kirche  and  the  Residence 
itself,  it  excites  astonishment  I  was  surprised,  however, 
to  find  at  this  age  a  painting  on  the  wall  behind  the  altar, 
representing  the  Almighty.  It  seems  as  if  human  presump¬ 
tion  has  no  limit.  The  simple  altar  of  Athens,  with  its  in¬ 
scription  “  To  the  Unknoivn  GodT  was  more  truly  reverent 
than  this.  As  I  sat  down  awhile  under  one  of  the  arches,  a 
poor  woman  came  in,  carrying  a  heavy  basket,  and  going 
to  the  steps  which  led  to  the  altar,  knelt  down  and  prayed, 
spreading  her  arms  out  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  Then,  after 
stooping  and  kissing  the  first  step,  she  dragged  her  knees 
upon  it,  and  commenced  praying  again  with  outspread  arms. 
This  performance  she  continued  until  she  had  climbed  them 
all,  which  occupied  some  time  ;  then,  as  if  she  had  fulfilled  a 
vow,  she  turned  and  departed.  She  was  undoubtedly  sin¬ 
cere  in  her  piety,  but  it  made  me  sad  to  look  upon  such  de¬ 
luded  superstition. 

Yesterday  morning  we  visited  the  Glyptothek,  the  finest 
collection  of  ancient  sculpture,  except  that  in  the  British 
Museum,  I  have  yet  seen,  and  perhaps  elsewhere  unsurpass¬ 
ed,  north  of  the  Alps.  The  building,  which  was  finished  by 
Klenze  in  1830,  has  an  Ionic  portico  of  white  marble,  with 
a  group  of  allegorical  figures,  representing  Sculpture 
and  the  kindred  arts.  On  each  side  of  the  portico,  there  are 
three  niches  in  the  front,  containing  on  one  side,  Pericles, 
Phidias  and  Vulcan;  on  the  other,  Hadrian,  Prometheus, 


280 


VIEWS  A -FOOT. 


and  Dsedalus.  The  building  forms  a  hollow  square,  and  is 
lighted  entirely  from  the  inner  side.  There  are  in  all 
twelve  halls,  each  containing  the  remains  of  a  particular  era 
in  the  art,  and  arranged  according  to  time,  so  that,  beginning 
with  the  clumsy  productions  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  one 
passes  through  the  different  stages  of  Grecian  art,  afterwards 
that  of  Rome,  and  finally  ends  with  the  works  of  our  own 
times — the  almost  Grecian  perfection  of  Thorwaldsen  and 
Canova.  These  halls  are  worth v  to  hold  such  treasures,  and 
what  more  could  be  said  of  them  ?  The  floors  are  of 
marble  mosaic,  the  sides  of  green  or  purple  seagliola, 
and  the  vaulted  ceilings  covered  with  raised  ornaments  on  a 
ground  of  gold.  Xo  two  are  alike  in  color  and  decoration, 
and  yet  there  is  a  unity  of  taste  and  design  in  the  whole, 
which  renders  the  variety  delightful. 

From  the  Egyptian  Hall,  we  enter  one  containing  the 
oldest  remains  of  Grecian  sculpture.  Then  follow  the  cele¬ 
brated  Egina  marbles,  from  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Panhel- 
lenius,  on  the  island  of  Egina.  They  formerly  stood  in  the 
two  porticoes,  the  one  group  representing  the  fight  for  the 
body  of  Laomedon,  the  other  the  struggle  for  the  dead  Pa- 
troclus.  The  parts  wanting  have  been  admirably  restored 
by  Thorwaldsen.  They  form  almost  the  only  existing  spe¬ 
cimens  of  the  Eginetan  school.  Passing  through  the  Apollo 

i 

Hall,  we  enter  the  large  hall  of  Bacchus,  in  which  the  pro¬ 
gress  of  the  art  is  distinctly  apparent.  A  satyr,  lying  asleep 
on  a  goat-skin  which  he  has  thrown  over  a  rock,  is  believed 
to  be  the  work  of  Praxiteles.  The  relaxation  of  the  figure 
and  perfect  repose  of  every  limb,  is  wonderful.  The  coun¬ 
tenance  has  traits  of  individuality  which  led  me  to  think  it 


THE  SON  OF  NIOBE. 


281 


might  have  been  a  portrait,  perhaps  of  some  rude  country 
swain. 

In  the  Hall  of  Niobe,  which  follows,  is  one  of  the  most 
perfect  works  that  ever  grew  into  life  under  a  sculptor’s 
chisel.  Mutilated  as  it  is,  without  head  and  arms,  I  never 
saw  a  more  expressive  figure.  Ilioneus,  the  son  of  Niobe, 
is  represented  as  kneeling,  apparently  in  the  moment  in 
which  Apollo  draws  his  bow,  and  there  is  an  imploring  sup¬ 
plication  in  his  attitude  which  is  touching  in  the  highest 
degree.  His  beautiful  young  limbs  shrink  involuntarily 
from  the  deadly  shaft ;  there  is  an  expression  of  prayer,  of 
agony,  in  the  position  of  his  body.  It  should  be  left  un¬ 
touched.  No  head  could  be  added,  which  would  equal  that 
which  one  pictures  to  himself,  while  gazing  upon  it. 

The  Pinacothek  is  a  magnificent  building  of  yellow  sand¬ 
stone,  five  hundred  and  thirty  feet  long,  containing  thirteen 
hundred  pictures,  selected  with  great  care  from  the  private 
collection  of  the  king,  which  amounts  to  nine  thousand. 
Above  the  cornice  on  the  southern  side,  stand  twenty-five 
colossal  statues  of  celebrated  painters,  by  Schwanthaler. 
As  we  approached,  the  tall  bronze  door  was  opened  by  a 
servant  in  the  Bavarian  livery,  whose  size  harmonized  so 
well  with  the  giant  proportions  of  the  building,  that,  until  I 
stood  beside  him  and  could  contrast  him  with  myself,  I  did 
not  notice  his  enormous  frame.  I  saw  then  that  he  must  be 
near  eight  feet  high,  and  stout  in  proportion.  He  reminded 
me  of  the  great  “  Baver  of  Trient,”  in  Vienna.  The  Pina¬ 
cothek  contains  the  most  complete  collection  of  works  by 
old  German  artists,  anywhere  to  be  found.  There  are,  in 
the  hall  of  the  Spanish  masters,  half  a  dozen  of  Murillo’s 


282 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


inimitable  beggar  groups.  It  was  a  relief,  after  looking 
upon  the  distressingly  stiff  figures  of  the  old  German  school, 
to  view  these  fresh  natural  countenances. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  buildings  now  in  the  course 
of  erection  is  the  Basilica,  or  Church  of  St.  Bonifacius.  It 
represents  another  form  of  the  Byzantine  style,  a  double 
edifice,  a  little  like  a  North  River  steamboat,  with  a  two- 
story  cabin  on  deck.  The  inside  is  not  yet  finished, 
although  the  artists  have  been  at  work  on  it  for  six  years, 
but  we  heard  many  accounts  of  its  splendor,  which  is  said  to 
exceed  anything  that  has  been  yet  done  in  Munich.  We 
visited  to-day  the  atelier  of  Schwanthaler,  which  is  always 
open  to  strangers.  The  sculptor  himself  was  not  there,  but 
five  or  six  of  his  scholars  were  at  work  in  the  rooms,  build¬ 
ing  up  clay  statues  after  his  models,  and  working  out  bas- 
reliefs  in  frames.  We  saw  here  the  original  models  of  the 
statues  on  the  Pinacothek,  and  the  “  Wittelsbach  Ancestors,” 
in  the  Throne  Hall  of  the  palace. 

Our  new-found  friend  came  to  visit  us  last  evening  and 
learn  our  impressions  of  Munich.  In  the  course  of  conver¬ 
sation  we  surprised  him  by  revealing  the  name  of  our  coun¬ 
try,  for  he  had  taken  us  for  wandering  German  students. 
His  countenance  brightened  up,  and  he  asked  us  many  ques¬ 
tions  about  the  state  of  society  in  America.  In  return,  he 
told  us  something  more  about  himself — his  story  was  simple, 
but  it  interested  me.  His  father  was  a  merchant,  who,  hav¬ 
ing  been  ruined  by  unlucky  transactions,  died,  leaving  a 
numerous  family  without  the  means  of  support.  His  chil¬ 
dren  were  obliged  to  commence  life  alone  and  unaided, 
which,  in  a  country  where  labor  is  so  cheap,  is  difficult  and 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  ARTISAN. 


283 


disheartening.  Our  friend  chose  the  profession  of  a  machin¬ 
ist,  which,  after  encountering  great  obstacles,  he  succeeded 
in  learning,  and  now  supports  himself  as  a  common  laborer. 
But  his  position  in  this  respect,  prevents  him  from  occupying 
that  station  in  society  for  which  he  is  intellectually  fitted. 
His  own  words,  uttered  with  a  simple  pathos  which  I  can 
never  forget,  will  best  describe  how  painful  this  must  be  to 
a  sensitive  spirit.  “  I  tell  you  thus  frankly  my  feelings,’ ’ 
said  he,  “  because  I  know  you  will  understand  me.  I  could 
not  say  this  to  any  of  my  associates,  for  they  would  not 
comprehend  it,  and  they  would  say  I  am  proud,  because  I 
cannot  bring  my  soul  down  to  their  level.  I  am  poor  and 
have  but  little  to  subsist  upon  ;  but  the  spirit  has  needs  as 
well  as  the  body,  and  I  feel  it  a  duty  and  a  desire  to  satisfy 
them  also.  When  I  am  with  any  of  my  common  fellow- 
laborers,  what  do  I  gain  from  them  ?  Their  leisure  hours 
are  spent  in  drinking  and  idle  amusement,  and  I  cannot  join 
them,  for  I  have  no  sympathy  with  such  things.  To  mingle 
with  those  above  me,  would  be  impossible.  Therefore  I  am 
alone — I  have  no  associate  !” 

I  have  gone  into  minute,  and  it  may  be  tiresome  detail* 
in  describing  some  of  the  edifices  of  Munich,  because  it 
seemed  the  only  way  in  which  I  could  give  an  idea  of  their 
wonderful  beauty.  It  is  true  that  in  copying  after  the  man¬ 
ner  of  the  daguerreotype,  there  is  danger  of  imitating  its 
exaggeration.  We  leave. to-morrow  morning,  having  receiv¬ 
ed  the  sum  written  for,  twenty  florins  (eight  dollars),  which, 
after  paying  the  expenses  of  our  stay  here,  will  barely  ena¬ 
ble  us  to  reach  Heidelberg.  It  is  a  week’s  journey,  and  we 
have  even  less  than  twenty  kreutzers  a  day,  to  travel  upon. 


CHAPTER  X  XVII 


JOURNEY  THROUGH  WURTEMBURG  AND 
RETURN  TO  FRANKFORT. 


The  Railroad  to  Augsburg— Traces  of  Ancient  Splendor — "Walk  to  TJlm — Entering 
Wurtemburg — Seeking  Lodgings  in  the  Rain — The  4‘  Golden  Wheel” — Funds— 
Good-bye  to  the  Alps — The  Valley  of  the  Fils — The  Suabian  Land — Arrival  at 
Stuttgard — Thorwaldsen’s  Statue  of  Schiller — The  Bewildered  Omnibus  Driver- 
Walking  in  the  Rain— Ludwigsburg— Empty  Pockets— Beauty  of  the  Zabergau — 
The  Last  Night — Approaching  Heidelberg — Familiar  Scenes — The  Castle — An  End 
of  Hardship — A  Student’s  Burial— Return  to  Frankfort— A  Midnight  Farewell. 

We  left  Municli  in  the  morning  train  for  Augsburg.  Be¬ 
tween  the  two  cities  extends  a  vast  unbroken  plain,  exceed¬ 
ingly  barren  and  monotonous.  Here  and  there  is  a  little 
scrubby  woodland,  and  sometimes  we  passed  over  a  muddy 
stream  which  came  down  from  the  Alps.  The  land  is  not 
more  than  half- cultivated,  and  the  villages  are  small  and 
poor.  We  saw  many  of  the  peasants  at  the  stations,  in 
their  gay  Sunday  dresses,  the  women  wearing  short  gowns 
with  laced  boddices  of  gay  colors,  and  little  caps  on  the  top 
of  their  heads,  with  streamers  of  ribbons  three  feet  long. 
After  two  hours’  ride,  we  saw  the  tall  towers  of  Augsburg, 
and  alighted  on  the  outside  of  the  wall.  The  deep  moat 


AUGSBURG. 


285 


which  surrounds  the  city  is  overgrown  with  velvet  turf,  the 
towers  and  bastions  are  empty  and  desolate,  and  we  passed 

i 

unchallenged  under  the  gloomy  archway.  Immediately  on 
entering  the  city,  signs  of  its  ancient  splendor  are  apparent. 
The  houses  are  old,  many  of  them  with  quaint,  elaborately 
carved  ornaments,  and  faded  fresco  paintings.  The  latter 
generally  represent  some  scene  from  the  Bible  history, 
encircled  with  arabesque  borders,  and  pious  maxims  in 
illuminated  scrolls.  We  went  into  the  old  Rcithhaus,  whose 
golden  hall  still  speaks  of  the  days  of  Augsburg’s  pride.  I 
saw  in  the  basement  a  bronze  eagle,  weighing  sixteen  tons, 
with  an  inscription  on  the  pedestal  stating  that  it  was  cast 
in  1606,  and  formerly  stood  on  the  top  of  an  old  public 
building,  since  torn  down.  In  front  of  the  Eathhaus  is  a 
fine  bronze  fountain,  with  a  number  of  figures  of  angels  and 
tritons. 

The  same  afternoon  we  left  Augsburg  for  Ulm.  Long, 
low  ranges  of  hills,  running  from  the  Danube,  stretched  far 
across  the  country,  and  between  them  lay  many  rich,  green 
valleys.  We  passed,  occasionally,  large  villages,  perhaps 
as  old  as  the  times  of  the  Crusaders,  and  appearing  quite 
pastoral  and  romantic  from  the  outside  ;  but  we  were  always 
glad  when  we  had  gone  through  their  filth  and  into  the 
clean  country  again.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day 
we  came  in  sight  of  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Danube  ;  far  to 
the  right  lay  the  field  of  Blenheim,  where  Marlborough 
and  the  Prince  Eugene  conquered  the  united  French  and 
Bavarian  forces  and  decided  the  war  of  the  Spanish  sue* 
cession. 

We  determined  to  reach  Elm  the  same  evening  although 


286 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


a  heavy  storm  was  raging  along  the  distant  hills  of  Wiirtem- 
burg.  The  dark  mass  of  the  mighty  Cathedral  rose  in  the 
distance  through  the  twilight,  a  mountain  in  comparison 
with  the  little  houses  clustered  around  its  base.  We 
reached  New  Ulm,  finally,  and  passed  over  the  heavy 
wooden  bridge  into  Wiirtemburg,  unchallenged  for  passport 
or  baggage.  The  Danube  is  here  a  little  muddy  stream, 
hardly  as  large  as  my  native  Brandywine,  and  a  traveller 
who  sees  it  at  Ulm  for  the  first  time  would  most  probably  be 
disappointed.  It  is  not  until  below  Vienna,  where  it  receives 
the  Drave  and  Save,  that  it  becomes  a  river  of  more  than 
ordinary  magnitude. 

We  entered  Ulm,  as  I  have  already  said.  It  was  after 
nine  o’clock,  nearly  dark,  and  beginning  to  rain ;  we  had 
walked  thirty-three  miles,  and  being  of  course  tired,  we 
entered  the  first  inn  we  saw.  But,  to  our  consternation,  it 
was  impossible  to  get  a  place — the  fair  had  just  commenced, 
and  the  inn  was  full  to  the  roof.  We  must  needs  hunt 
another,  and  then  another,  and  yet  another,  with  like  fate  at 
each.  It  grew  quite  dark,  the  rain  increased,  and  we  were 
unacquainted  with  the  city.  I1  became  desperate,  and  at 
last,  when  we  had  stopped  at  the  eighth  inn  in  vain,  I  told 
the  people  we  must  have  lodgings,  for  it  was  impossible  we 
should  walk  around  in  the  rain  all  night.  Some  of  the 
guests  interfering  in  our  favor,  the  hostess  finally  sent  a  ser¬ 
vant  with  us  to  the  first  hotel  in  the  city.  I  told  him  on  the 
'way  we  were  Americans,  strangers  in  Ulm,  and  not  accus¬ 
tomed  to  sleeping  in  the  streets.  “  Well,”  said  he,  “  I  will 
go  before,  and  recommend  you  to  the  landlord  of  the  Golden 
Wheel.”  I  knew  not  what  magic  he  used,  but  in  half  an 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  FILC. 


287 


hour  our  weary  limbs  were  stretched  in  delightful  repose, 
and  we  thanked  Heaven  more  gratefully  than  ever,  for  the 
blessing  of  a  good  bed.  The  night’s  lodging,  however,  told 
severely  upon  our  finances;  and  when  we  left  the  city,  for 
our  walk  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  to  Heidelberg,  we 
had  but  sixty  cents  apiece  in  our  pockets. 

There  is  an  immense  fortification  now  in  progress  of  erec¬ 
tion  behind  Ulm.  It  leans  on  the  side  of  the  hill  which 
rises  from  the  Danube,  and  must  be  nearly  a  mile  in  length 
Hundreds  of  laborers  are  at  work,  and  from  the  appearance 
of  the  foundations,  many  years  will  be  required  to  finish  it. 
The  lofty  mountain -plain  which  we  afterwards  traversed  for 
eight  or  ten  miles,  divides  the  waters  of  the  Danube  from 
the  Rhine.  From  the  heights  above  Ulm,  we  bade  adieu  to 
the  far,  misty  Alps,  until  we  shall  see  them  again  in  Swit¬ 
zerland.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  we  came  to  a  lovely  green 
valley,  sunk  as  it  were  in  the  earth.  Around  us,  on  all 
sides,  stretched  the  bare,  lofty  plains ;  but  the  valley  lay 
below,  its  deep  sides  covered  with  the  richest  forest.  At 
the  bottom  flowed  the  Fils. ,  Our  road  led  directly  down  the 
side  ;  the  glen  spread  out  brpader  as  we  advanced,  and 
smiling  villages  stood  beside  the  stream.  A  short  distance 
before  reaching  Esslingen,  we  came  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Neckar,  whom  we  hailed  as  an  old  acquaintance,  although 
much  smaller  here  in  his  mountain  home  than  when  he 
sweeps  the  walls  of  Heidelberg. 

Delightful  W iirtemburg  !  Shall  I  ever  forget  thy  lo-v  ely 
green  vales,  watered  by  the  classic  current  of  the  Neckar, 
or  thy  lofty  hills  covered  with  vineyards  and  waving  forests, 
and  crowned  with  heavy  ruins,  that  tell  many  a  tale  of  Bar- 


288 


VIEWS  A-F007. 


barossa  and  Duke  Ulric  and  Goetz  with  the  Iron  Hand! 
No — were  even  the  Suabian  hills  less  beautiful — were  the 
Suabian  people  less  faithful  and  kind  and  true,  still  I  would 
love  the  land  for  the  great  spirits  it  has  produced ;  still 
would  the  birth-place  of  Frederick  Schiller,  of  Uhland  and 
Hauff,  be  sacred.  I  do  not  wonder  that  Wiirtemburg  can 
boast  such  glorious  poets.  Its  lovely  landscapes  seem  to 
have  been  made  expressly  for  the  cradle  of  Genius ;  amid 
no  other  scenes  could  his  childhood  catch  a  more  benign 
inspiration.  Even  the  common  people  are  deeply  imbued 
with  a  poetic  feeling.  W e  saw  it  in  .heir  friendly  greetings, 
and  open,  expressive  countenances  ;  it  is  shown  in  their  love 
for  their  beautiful  homes,  and  the  rapture  and  reverence  with 
which  they  speak  of  their  country’s  bards.  No  river  in  the 
world,  equal  to  the  Neckar  in  size,  flows  for  its  whole  course 
through  more  delightful  scenery,  or  among  kinder  and  hap¬ 
pier  people. 

After  leaving  Esslingen,  we  followed  its  banks  for  some 
time,  at  the  foot  of  an  amphitheatre  of  hills,  covered  to  the 
very  summit,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  with  vineyards. 
The  morning  was  cloudy,  and  white  mist-wreaths  hung 
along  the  sides.  We  took  a  road  that  led  over  the  top  of  a 
range,  and  on  arriving  at  the  summit,  saw  all  at  once  the 
city  of  Stuttgard,  lying  beneath  our  feet.  It  lay  in  a  basin 
encircled  by  mountains,  with  a  narrow  valley  opening  to  the 
south-east,  and  running  off  between  the  hills  to  the  Neckar. 
The  situation  of  the  city  is  one  of  wonderful  beauty,  and  even 
after  seeing  Salzburg,  I  could  not  but  be  charmed  with  it. 

I  inquired  immediately  for  the  monument  of  Schiller,  for 
there  was  little  else  in  the  city  I  cared  to  see.  We  had  be* 


THE  STATUE  OF  SCHILLER. 


289 


come  tired  of  running  about  cities,  bunting  this  or  that  old 
church  or  palace,  which  perhaps  was  nothing  when  found, 
Stuttgard  has  neither  galleries,  ruins,  nor  splendid  buildings, 
to  interest  the  traveller ;  but  it  has  Thorwaldsen’s  statue  of 
Schiller,  calling  up  at  the  same  time  its  shame  and  its  glory  c 
For  the  poet  in  his  youth  was  obliged  to  fly  from  this  very 
same  city — from  home  and  friends,  to  escape  the  persecution 
of  the  government  on  account  of  the  free  sentiments  expressed 
in  his  early  works.  We  found  the  statue,  without  much  dif¬ 
ficulty.  It  stands  in  the  Schloss  Platz,  at  the  southern  end  of 
the  city,  in  an  unfavorable  situation,  surrounded  by  dark  old 
buildings.  It  should  rather  be  placed  aloft  on  a  mountain 
summit,  in  the  pure,  free  air  of  heaven,  braving  the  storm 
and  the  tempest.  The  figure  is  fourteen  feet  high,  and  stands 
on  a  pedestal  of  bronze,  with  bas-reliefs  on  the  four  sides. 
The  head,  crowned  with  a  laurel  wreath,  is  inclined  as  if  in 
deep  thought,  and  all  the  earnest  soul  is  seen  in  the  coun¬ 
tenance.  Tliorwaldsen  has  copied  so  truly  the  expression 
of  poetic  reverie,  that  I  waited,  half-expecting  he  would  lift 
his  head  and  look  around  him. 

As  we  passed  out  the  eastern  gate,  the  workmen  were  busy 
near  the  city,  making  an  embankment  for  the  new  railroad 
to  Heilbronn,  and  we  were  obliged  to  wade-  through  half  a 
mile  of  mud.  Finally  the  road  turned  to  the  left  over  a 
mountain,  and  we  walked  on:  in  the  rain,  regardless  of  the 
touching  entreaties  of  an  omnibus-driver,  who  felt  a  great 
concern  for  our  health,  especially  as  he  had  two  empty  seats. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  man’s  amazement  when  I  gravely 
assured  him  that  we  preferred  walking  in  the  rain.  “  You 

need  only  pay  me  half  the  fare,”  he  urged.  “  If  it  was  fair 

13  ' 


290 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


weather,”  said  I,  “  I  would  ride  ;  but  I  would  rather  walk 
when  it  rains.”  “  You  will  get  sick,”  he  persisted.  “  No,”  I 
answered,  “  I  would  get  sick  if  I  rode.”  The  man  must  have 
thought  us  insane,  for  he  turned  at  last  with  a  look  of  mingled 
pity  and  horror,  whipped  his  horses,  and  drove  away  from  us. 
There  is  a  peculiarly  agreeable  sensation  in  walking  in  a 
storm,  when  the  winds  sweep  by  and  the  rain-drops  rattle 
through  the  trees,  and  the  dark  clouds  roll  past  just  above 
one’s  head.  It  gives  a  dash  of  sublimity  to  the  most  common 
scene.  If  the  rain  did  not  finally  soak  through  the  boots, 
and  if  one  did  not  lose  every  romantic  feeling  in  wet  gar¬ 
ments,  I  would  prefer  storm  to  sunshine,  for  visiting  some 
kinds  of  scenery.  W e  saw  the  North  Coast  of  Ireland  and  the 
Giant’s  Causeway  in  stormy  weather,  at  the  expense  of  being 
completely  drenched,  it  is  true ;  but  our  recollections  of  that 
wild  day’s  journey  are  as  vivid  as  any  event  of  our  lives — 
and  the  name  of  the  Giant’s  Causeway  calls  up  a  series  of 
pictures  as  terribly  sublime  as  any  we  would  wish  to  behold. 

The  rain  at  last  came  down  a  little  too  hard  for  comfort, 
and  we  were  quite  willing  to  take  shelter  when  we  reached 
Ludwigsburg.  This  is  here  called  a  new  city,  having  been 
laid  out  with  broad  streets  and  spacious  squares,  about  a 
century  ago,  and  is  now  about  the  size  of  our  five-year  old 
city  of  Milwaukie  !  It  is  the  chief  military  station  of  Wiir- 
temburg,  and  has  a  splendid  castle  and  gardens,  belonging  to 
the  king.  A  few  miles  to  the  eastward  is  the  little  village 
where  Schiller  was  born.  It  is  said  that  the  house  in  which 
his  parents  lived  is  still  standing. 

It  was  not  the  weather  alone  which  prevented  our  making 
a  pilgrimage  thither,  nor  was  it  alone  a  peculiar  fondness  for 


THE  ZABERGATT. 


291 


* 

rain  which  induced  us  to  persist  in  walking  in  the  storm. 
Our  feeble  pockets,  if  they  could  have  raised  an  audible 
jingle,  would  have  told  another  tale.  Our  scanty  allowance 
was  dwindling  rapidly  away,  in  spite  of  a  desperate  system  of 
economy.  It  was  the  evening  of  the  third  day  since  leaving 
Ulm,  and  our  sixty  cents  were  almost  exhausted.  As  soon 
therefore  as  the  rain  slackened  a  little,  we  started  again, 
although  the  roads  were  very  bad.  At  Betigheim,  where  we 
passed  the  night,  the  people  told  us  of  a  much  nearer  and 
more  beautiful  road,  passing  through  the  Zabergau,  a  region 
famed  for  its  fertility  and  pastoral  beauty.  At  the  inn  we 
were  charged  higher  than  usual  (five  cents)  for  a  bed,  so  that 
we  had  but  thirteen  kreutzers  to  start  with  in  the  morning.  Our 
fare  that  day  was  a  little  bread  and  water ;  we  walked  steadily 
on,  but,  owing  to  the  wet  roads,  made  only  thirty  miles. 

A  more  delightful  region  than  the  Zabergau  I  have  seldom 
seen.  The  fields  were  full  of  rich,  heavy  grain,  and  the 
trees  had  a  luxuriance  of  foliage  that  reminded  me  of  the 

vale  of  the  Jed,  in  Scotland.  The  long  hills  were  covered 

« 

with  waving  fields  of  grain,  except  where  they  were  steep 
and  rocky,  and  the  vineyard  terraces  rose  one  above  another. 
Sometimes  a  fine  old  forest  grew  along  the  summit,  like  a 
mane  waving  back  from  the  curved  neck  of  a  steed,  and 
white  villages  lay  coiled  in  the  valleys  between.  A  line  of 
blue  mountains  always  closed  the  vista,  on  looking  down 
one  of  these  long  valleys  ;  occasionally  a  ruined  castle  with 
donjon  tower,  was  seen  on  a  mountain  at  the  side,  making 
the  picture  complete.  As  we  lay  sometimes  on  the  hillside 
and  looked  on  one  of  those  sweet  vales,  we  were  astonished 
at  its  Arcadian  beauty.  The  meadows  were  as  smooth  as  a 


i 


292 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


mirror,  and  there  seemed  to  be  scarcely  a  grass-blade  out  of 
place.  The  streams  wound  through  with  a  subdued  ripple, 
as  if  they  feared  to  displace  a  pebble ;  and  the  great  ash 
trees  which  stood  here  and  there,  had  lined  each  of  their 
leaves  as  carefully  with  silver  and  turned  them  as  gracefully 
to  the  wind,  as  if  they  were  making  their  toilettes  for  the 
gala-day  of  Nature. 

That  evening  brought  us  into  the  dominions  of  Baden, 
within  five  hours’  walk  of  Heidelberg.  At  the  humblest 
inn  in  an  humble  village,  we  found  a  bed  which  we  could 
barely  pay  for,  leaving  a  kreutzer  or  two  for  breakfast. 
Soon  after  starting  the  next  morning,  the  distant  Kaiserstuhl 
suddenly  emerged  from  the  mist,  with  the  high  tower  on  its 
summit,  where,  nearly  ten  months  before,  we  sat  and  looked 
at  the  summits  of  the  Vosges  in  France,  with  all  the  excite¬ 
ment  one  feels  on  entering  a  foreign  land.  Now,  the  scenery 
around  that  same  Kaiserstuhl  was  nearly  as  familiar  to  us 
as  that  of  our  own  homes.  Entering  the  hills  again,  we 
knew  by  the  blue  mountains  of  the  Odenwald,  that  we  were 
approaching  the  Neckar.  At  length  we  reached  the  last 
height.  The  town  of  Neckargemund  lay  before  us  on  the 
steep  hillside,  and  the  mountains  on  either  side  were  scarred 
with  quarries  of  the  rich  red  sandstone,  so  much  used  in 
building.  The  blocks  are  hewn  out,  high  up  on  the  moun¬ 
tain  side,  and  then  sent  rolling  and  sliding  down  to  the  river, 
where  they  are  laden  in  boats  and  floated  with  the  current 
to  the  distant  cities  of  the  Rhine. 

We  were  rejoiced,  on  turning  around  the  corner  of  a 
mountain,  to  see  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  the  road 
winding  up  through  the  forests,  where  last  September  our 


RETURN  TO  HEIDELBERG. 


293 


Heidelberg  friends  accompanied  us,  as  we  set  out  to  walk  to 
Frankfort,  through  the  Odenwald.  Many  causes  combined 
to  render  it  a  glad  scene  to  us.  We  were  going  to  meet 
our  friend  again,  after  a  separation  of  months  ;  we  were 
bringing  an  eventful  journey  to  its  close ;  and  finally,  we 
were  weak  and  worn  out  from  fasting  and  the  labor  of  walk¬ 
ing  in  the  rain.  A  little  further  we  saw  Kloster  Neuburg, 
formerly  an  old  convent,  and  remembered  how  we  used  to 
look  at  it  every  day  from  the  windows  of  our  room  on  the 
Neckar ;  but  we  shouted  aloud,  when  we  saw  at  last  the 
well-known  bridge  spanning  the  river,  and  the  glorious  old 
castle  lifting  its  shattered  towers  from  the  side  of  the  moun¬ 
tain  above  us.  I  always  felt  a  strong  attachment  to  this 
matchless  ruin,  and  as  I  beheld  it  again,  with  the  warm  sun¬ 
shine  falling  through  each  broken  arch,  the  wild  ivy  draping 
its  desolate  chambers,  it  seemed  to  smile  on  me  like  the  face 
of  a  friend,  and  I  confessed  I  had  seen  many  a  grander 
scene,  but  few  that  would  cling  to  the  memory  so  familiarly. 

While  we  were  in  Heidelberg,  a  student  was  buried  by 
torchlight.  His  brethren  assembled  at  dusk  in  the  Univer¬ 
sity  Square,  each  with  a  blazing  pine  torch  three  feet  long, 
and  formed  into  a  double  line.  Between  the  files  walked  at 
short  distances  an  officer,  who,  with  his  sword,  broad  lace 
collar,  and  the  black  and  white  plumes  in  his  cap,  looked 
like  a  cavalier  of  the  olden  time.  The  thick  smoke  from 
the  torches  filled  the  air,  and  a  lurid,  red  light  was  cast  over 
the  hushed  crowds  in  the  streets  and  streamed  into  the  dark 
alleys.  The  Hauptstrasse  was  filled  with  two  lines  of  flame, 
as  the  procession  passed  down  it ;  but  when  they  reached 
the  extremity  of  the  city,  the  hearse  went  on,  attended  with 


294 


YIEWS  A-FOOT. 


torch-bearers,  to  the  Cemetery,  some  distance  further,  and 
the  students  turned  hack,  running  and  whirling  their  torches 
in  mingled  confusion.  The  music  struck  up  a  merry  march, 
and  in  the  smoke  and  glare,  they  resembled  a  company  of 
mad  demons.  The  presence  of  death  awed  them  to  silence 
for  awhile,  but  as  soon  as  it  had  left  them,  they  turned  re¬ 
lieved  to  revel  again,  and  thought  no  more  of  the  lesson. 
They  assembled  again  in  the  square,  and  tossing  their  torches 
up  into  the  air,  cast  them  blazing  into  a  pile ;  while  the 
flame  and  black  smoke  rose  in  a  column  into  the  air,  they 
sang  in  solemn  chorus,  the  song  “  Gaudeamus  igitur ,”  with 
which  they  close  all  public  assemblies. 

I  shall  neglect  telling  how  we  left  Heidelberg,  and 
walked  along  the  Bergstrasse  again,  for  the  sixth  time  ;  how 
we  passed  the  old  Meliboclius  and  through  the  quiet  city  of 
Darmstadt ;  how  we  watched  the  blue  summits  of  the  Tau- 
nus  rising  higher  and  higher  over  the  plain,  as  a  new  land 
rises  from  the  sea ;  and  finally,  how  we  reached  at  last  the 
old  watch-tower  and  looked  down  on  the  valley  of  the 
Main,  clothed  in  the  bloom  and  verdure  of  summer,  with 
the  houses  and  spires  of  Frankfort  in  the  middle  of  the  well 
known  panorama.  We  again  took  possession  of  our  old 
rooms,  and  having  to  wait  for  a  remittance  from  America, 
we  sat  down  to  a  month’s  rest  and  study.  Towards  the  end 

of  July,  Mr.  Willis  and  the  family  of  Herr  S -  returned 

from  the  baths  of  Kreuznacli,  where  they  had  been  spending 
the  warm  weather,  and  our  happy  family  circle  was  re¬ 
stored.  I  received  another  remittance  of  a  hundred  dollars, 
which  secured  me  Switzerland  and  Italy,  and  immediately 
began  to  prepare  for  my  departure. 


A  FAREWELL  AT  MIDNIGHT. 


295 


Frankfort,  July  29,  1845 

It  would  be  ingratitude  towards  the  old  city  in  winch  I 
have  passed  so  many  pleasant  and  profitable  hours,  to  leave 
it,  perhaps  for  ever,  without  a  few  words  of  farewell.  How 
often  will  the  old  bridge,  with  its  view  up  the  Main,  over  the 
houses  of  Oberrad  to  the  far  mountains  of  the  Odenwald, 
rise  freshly  and  distinctly  in  memory,  when  I  shall  have 
been  long  absent  from  them  !  How  often  will  I  hear  in 
fancy,  as  I  now  hear  in  reality,  the  heavy  tread  of  pas¬ 
sers-by  on  the  rough  pavement  below,  and  the  deep  bell 
of  the  Cathedral,  chiming  the  swift  hours,  with  a  hollow 
tone  that  seems  to  warn  me,  rightly  to  employ  them ! 
Even  this  old  room,  with  its  bare  walls,  little  table  and 
chairs,  in  which  I  have  thought  and  studied  so  long,  that  it 
seems  difficult  to  think  and  study  anywhere  else,  will  crowd 
out  of  memory  images  of  many  a  loftier  scene.  May  I  but 
preserve  for  the  future  the  hope  and  trust  which  have 
cheered  and  sustained  me  here,  through  the  sorrow  of 
absence  and  the  anxiety  of  uncertain  toil !  It  is  growing 
towards  midnight,  and  I  think  of  many  a  night  when  I  sat 
here  at  this  hour,  thinking  of  the  pleasant  past,  and  the 
doubtful  future,  and  my  beloved  home  across  the  sea.  All 
this  has  now  an  end.  I  must  begin  a  new  wandering,  and 
perhaps  in  ten  days  more  I  shall  have  a  better  place  for 
thought,  among  the  valleys  of  the  everlasting  Alps.  I  look 
forward  to  the  journey  with  romantic,  enthusiastic  anticipa¬ 
tion,  for  afar  in  the  golden  distance  stand  the  Coliseum  and 
St.  Peter's,  Vesuvius  and  the  lovely  Naples.  Farewell, 
friends  who  have  so  long  given  me  a  home  in  a  strange 
land ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

«• 

FREIBURG  AND*  THE  BLACK  FOREST. 

On  the  way  to  Italy— Meeting  with  a  Neighbor— A  Talk  with  the  Farmers— Journey 
to  Freiburg— The  Minster— Market  Day— The  New  Railroad— The  Institute  for 
the  Blind— The  Grand  Duchess  Stephanie— The  Kingdom  of  Heaven— The  Valley 
of  Hell— Natives  of  the  Black  Forest — Climbing  the  Feldberg— Scenery  of  the  Black 
Forest— The  Alps  again— We  enter  Switzerland— Schaff hausen— 1 The  Falls  of  the 
Rhine. 

Of  our  walk  to  Heidelberg  over  the  oft-trodden  Bergstrasse, 
I  shall  say  nothing,  nor  how  we  spent  two  last  delightful 
days  with  our  friends,  lingered  about  the  Castle,  climbed 
the  Kaiserstulil  again,  and  danced  around  on  the  top  of  the 
tower  for  an  hour,  amid  cloud  and  mist,  while  there  was 
sunshine  below  in  the  valley  of  the  Neckar.  I  left  Heidel¬ 
berg  on  the  8tli  of  August,  in  the  a tefiwngen,  for  Carlsruhe. 
The  engijje  whistled,  the  train  started,  and  although  I  kept 
my  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  spire  of  the  Hauptkirche, 
three  minutes  hid  it  and  all  the  rest  of  the  city  from  sight. 
Carlsruhe,  the  capital  of  Baden,  which  we  reached  in  an 
hour  and  a  half,  is  unanimously  pronounced  by  travellers  to 
be  a  mpst  dull  and  tiresome  city.  Even  its  name,  in  Ger¬ 
man,  signifies  a  place  of  repose. 

t 

*  *  m  * 


A  TALK  WITH  THE  FARMERS. 


297 


I  stopped  at  Kork,  on  the  branch  road  leading  to  Stras¬ 
bourg,  to  meet  a  German- American  about  to  return  to  my 
home  in  Pennsylvania,  where  he  had  lived  for  some  time.  I 
inquired  according  to  the  direction  he  had  sent  me  to  Frank¬ 
fort,  but  he  was  not  there  ;  however,  an  old  man,  finding 
who  I  was,  said  that  Herr  Otto  had  directed  him  to  go  with 
me  to  Hesselhurst,  a  village  four  or  five  miles  off,  where  he 
would  meet  me.  So  we  set  off  immediately  over  the  plain, 
and  reached  the  village  at  dusk. 

Several  of  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood  were  at  the 
little  inn,  and  seemed  to  consider  it  as  something  extraordi¬ 
nary  to  see  a  real,  live,  native-born  American.  They  over¬ 
whelmed  me  with  questions  about  our  country,  and  its 
government.  The  hostess  brought  me  a  supper  of  fried  eggs 
and  wurst ,  while  they  gathered  around  the  table  and  began 
a  long  category  in  the  dialect  of  the  country,  which  is  diffi¬ 
cult  to  understand.  I  gave  them  the  best  information  I 
could,  about  our  mode  of  farming,  the  different  kinds  of 
produce  raised,  and  the  prices  paid  to  laborers ;  and  one 
honest  old  man  cried  out,  on  my  saying  I  had  worked  on  a 
farm,  “  Ah  !  little  brother,  give  me  your  hand  !”  which  he 
shook  most  heartily.  I  told  them  also  something  about  our 
government,  and  the  militia  system,  so  different  from  the 
conscription  of  Europe,  when  a  farmer,  becoming  c^uite  warm 
in  our  favor,  said  to  the  others  with  an  air  of  the  greatest 

9 

decision  :  “  One  American  is  bettor  than  twenty  Germans  !” 
What  particularly  amused  me,  was,  that  although  I  spoke 

.  i 

German  with  them,  they  seemed  to  think  that  I  did  hot 

:<  (  . 

understand  what  they  said  to  one  another,  and  therefore 

l  I  * 

commented  very  freely  on  my  appearance.  I  suppose  they 

'  13* 


293 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


liad  the  idea  that  we  were  a  rude,  savage  race,  for  I  over¬ 
heard  one  say :  “  One  sees,  nevertheless,  that  he  has  been 
educated  !”  Their  honest,  unsophisticated  character  was 
very  interesting  to  me,  and  we  talked  together  until  a  late 
hour. 

My  friend  arrived  at  three  o’clock  the  next  morning,  and 
after  two  or  three  hours’  talk  about  home,  and  the  friends 
whom  he  expected  to  see  so  much  sooner  than  I,  a  young 
farmer  drove  me  in  his  wagon  to  Offenburg,  a  small  city  at 
the  foot  of  the  Black  Forest,  where  I  took  the  cars  for  Frei¬ 
burg.  The  scenery  between  the  two  places  is  grand.  The 
broad  mountains  of  the  Black  Forest  rear  their  fronts  on  the 
east,  and  the  blue  lines  of  the  French  Vosges  meet  the 
clouds  on  the  west.  The  night  before,  in  walking  over  the 
plain,  I  saw  distinctly  the  whole  of  the  Strasburg  Minster, 
the  spire  of  which  is  the  highest  in  Europe,  being  four  hun¬ 
dred  and  ninety  f^et,  or  but  twenty-five  feet  lower  than  the 
Pyramid  of  Cheops. 

The  Minster  of  Freiburg  is  a  grand,  gloomy  old  pile,  dat¬ 
ing  from  the  eleventh  century — one  of  the  few  Gothic 
churches  in  Germany  that  have  ever  been  completed.  The 
tower  of  beautiful  fretwork,  rises  to  the  height  of  three 
hundred  and  ninety-five  feet,  and  the  body  of  the  church, 
including  the  choir,  is  of  the  same  length.  The  interior  is 
solemn  and  majestic.  The  day  after  my  arrival  was  the 
great  market-day,  and  the  peasantry  of  the  Black  Forest 
came  down  from  the  mountains  to  dispose  of  their  produce. 
The  square  around  the  Minster  was  filled  with  them,  and 
the  singular  costume  of  the  women  gave  the  scene  quite  a 
picturesque  appearance.  Many  of  them  wore  bright  red 


THE  INSTITUTE  FOR  THE  BLIND. 


299 


head-dresses  and  shawls,  others  had  high-crowned  hats  of 
yellow  oil-cloth  ;  the  young  girls  wore  their  hair  in  long 
plaits,  reaching  nearly  to  their  feet. 

The  railroad  has  only  been  open  to  Freiburg  within  a  few 
days,  and  is  consequently  an  object  of  great  curiosity  to  the 
peasants,  many  of  whom  never  saw  the  like  before.  They 
throng  around  the  station  at  the  departure  of  the  train,  and 
watch  with  great  interest  the  operations  of  getting  up  the 
steam  and  starting.  One  of  the  scenes  that  grated  most 
harshly  on  my  feelings,  was  seeing  one  day  a  company  of 
women  employed  on  the  unfinished  part  of  the  road.  They 
were  digging  and  shovelling  away  in  the  rain,  nearly  up  to 
their  knees  in  mud  and  clay  ! 

I  called  at  the  Institute  for  the  Blind,  under  the  direction 
of  Mr.  Muller.  He  showed  me  some  beautiful  basket  and 
woven  work  by  his  pupils,  made  with  astonishing  accuracy 
and  skill.  They  read  with  great  facility  from  the  raised 
type,  and  by  means  of  frames  are  taught  to  write  with  ease 
and  distinctness.  In  music,  that  great  solace  of  the  blind, 
they  most  excelled.  I  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Muller,  to  whom 
I  was  introduced  by  an  acquaintance  with  a  friend  of  his  in 
America,  for  many  kind  attentions.  He  accompanied  me  to 
the  J iigerhaus,  on  a  mountain  near,  where  we  had  a  very  fine 
view  of  the  city  and  its  great  black  Minster,  with  the  plain 
of  the  Briesgau,  broken  only  by  the  Kaiserstuhl,  a  long 
mountain  near  the  Rhine,  whose  golden  stream  glittered  in 
the  distance.  On  climbing  the  Schlossberg,  an  eminence 
near  the  city,  we  met  the  Grand  Duchess  Stephanie,  who  is 
now  generally  believed  to  be  the  mother  of  Caspar  Hauser. 
Through  a  work  lately  published,  which  has  since  been  sup- 


300 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


pressed,  the  whole  history  has  come  to  light.  Caspar  Hau¬ 
ser  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  the  house  of  Baden,  and 

heir  to  the  throne.  The  guilt  of  his  imprisonment  and  mur- 

% 

der  rests,  therefore,  upon  the  present  reigning  family. 

After  two  days  delightfully  spent,  we  shouldered  our 
knapsacks  and  left  Freiburg.  The  beautiful  valley,  at  the 
mouth  of  which  the  city  lies,  runs  like  an  avenue  for  seven 
miles  directly  into  the  mountains,  and  presents  in  its  loveli¬ 
ness  such  a  contrast  to  the  horrid  defile  which  follows,  that 
it  almost  deserves  the  name  which  has  been  given  to  a  little 
inn  at  its  head — the  “  Kingdom  of  Heaven.”  The  moun¬ 
tains  of  the  Black  Forest  inclose  it  on  each  side  like  walls, 
covered  to  the  summit  with  luxuriant  woods,  and  in  some 
places  with  those  forests  of  gloomy  pine  which  give  this  re¬ 
gion  its  name.  After  traversing  its  whole  length,  just  before 
plunging  into  the  mountain-depths,  the  traveller  rarely  meets 

t 

with  a  finer  picture  than  that  which,  on  looking  back,  he 
sees  framed  between  the  hills  at  the  other  end.  Freiburg 
looks  around  the  foot  of  one  of  the  heights,  with  the  spire 
of  her  cathedral  peeping  above  the  top,  while  the  French 
Vosges  grow  dim  in  the  far  perspective. 

The  road  now  enters  a  wild,  narrow  valley,  which  grows 
smaller  as  we  proceed.  From  Himmelreich,  a  large  rude 
inn  by  the  side  of  the  green  meadows,  we  enter  the  Hollen- 
thal — that  is,  from  the  “  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ”  to  the  “  Val¬ 
ley  of  Hell ! ”  The  latter  place  better  deserves  its  appella¬ 
tion  than  the  former.  The  road  winds  between  precipices 
of  black  rock,  above  which  the  thick  foliage  shuts  out  the 
brightness  of  day,  and  gives  a  sombre  hue  to  the  scene.  A 
torrent  foams  down  the  chasm,  and  in  one  place  two  mighty 


CLIMBING  THE  FELDBERG. 


301 


pillars  interpose  to  prevent  all  passage.  The  stream,  how¬ 
ever,  has  worn  its  way  through,  and  the  road  is  hewn  in  the 
rock  by  its  side.  This  cleft  is  the  only  entrance  to  a  valley 
three  or  four  miles  long,  which  lies  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
mountains.  It  is  inhabited  by  a  few  woodmen  and  their 
families,  and  but  for  the  road  which  passes  through,  would 
be  as  perfect  a  solitude  as  the  Happy  Aralley  of  Rasselas. 
At  the  farther  end,  a  winding  road  called  “  The  Ascent,” 
leads  up  the  steep  mountain  to  an  elevated  region  of  country, 
thinly  settled  and  covered  with  herds  of  cattle.  The  cher¬ 
ries,  which  in  the  Rhine-plain  below  had  long  gone,  were 
just  ripe  here.  The  people  spoke  a  most  barbarous  dialect, 
but  they  were  social  and  friendly,  for  everybody  greeted  us, 
and  sometimes,  as  we  sat  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside, 
those  who  passed  would  say  “  Rest  thee  !”  or  “  Thrice 
rest !” 

Passing  by  the  Titi  Lake,  a  small  body  of  water  which 
was  spread  out  among  the  hills  like  a  sheet  of  ink,  so  black 
was  its  hue,  we  commenced  ascending  a  mountain.  The 
highest  peak  of  the  Schwarzwald,  the  Feldberg,  rose  not 
far  off,  and  on  arriving  at  the  top  of  this  mountain,  we  saw 
that  a  half  hour’s  walk  would  bring  us  to  its  summit.  This 
was  too  great  a  temptation  for  my  love  of  climbing  heights ; 
so,  with  a  look  at  the  descending  sun  to  calculate  how  much 
time  we  could  spare,  we  set  out.  There  was  no  path,  but 
we  pressed  directly  up  the  steep  side,  through  bushes  and 
long  grass,  and  in  a  short  time  reached  the  top,  breathless 
from  such  exertion  in  the  thin  atmosphere.  The  pine  woods 
shut  out  the  view  to  the  north  and  east,  which  is  said  to  be 
magnificent,  as  the  mountain  is  about  five  thousand  feet  high. 


302 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


The  wild,  black  peaks  of  the  Black  Forest  were  spread  be¬ 
low  us,  and  the  sun  sank  through  golden  mist  towards  the 
Alsatian  hills.  Afar  to  the  south,  through  cloud  and  storm, 
we  could  just  trace  the  white  outline  of  the  Swiss  Alps. 
The  wind  swept  through  the  pines  around,  and  bent  the 
long  yellow  grass  among  which  we  sat,  with  a  strange, 
mournful  sound,  well  suiting  the  gloomy  and  mysterious 
region.  It  soon  grow  cold,  the  golden  clouds  settled  down 
towards  us,  and  we  made  haste  to  descend  to  the  village  of 
Lenzkirch  before  dark. 

Next  morning  we  set  out  early,  without  waiting  to  see 
the  trial  of  archery  which  was  to  take  place  among  the 
mountain  youths.  Their  booths  and  targets,  gay  with  ban¬ 
ners,  stood  on  a  green  meadow  beside  the  town.  We  walked 
through  the  Black  Forest  the  whole  forenoon.  It  might  be 
owing  to  the  many  wild  stories  the  scenes  whereof  are  laid 
among  these  hills,  but  to  me  there  was  a  peculiar  feeling  of 
solemnity  pervading  the  whole  region.  The  great  pine 
woods  are  of  the  very  darkest  hue  of  green,  and  down 
their  hoary,  moss-floored  aisles,  daylight  seems  never  to 
have  shone.  The  air  was  pure  and  clear,  and  the  sunshine 
bright,  but  it  imparted  no  gaiety  to  the  scenery  :  except  the 
little  meadows  of  living  emerald  which  lay  occasionally  in 
the  lap  of  a  dell,  the  landscape  wore  a  solemn  and  serious 
air.  In  a  storm,  it  must  be  sublime. 

About  noon,  from  the  top  of  the  last  range  of  hills,  we 
had  a  glorious  view.  The  line  of  the  distant  Alps  could  be 
faintly  traced  high  in  the  clouds,  and  all  the  heights  between 
were  plainly  visible,  from  the  Lake  of  Constance  to  the 
misty  Jura,  which  flanked  the  Vosges  on  the  west.  From 


ENTERING-  SWITZERLAND. 


303 


our  lofty  station  we  overlooked  half  Switzerland,  and  had 
the  air  been  a  little  clearer,  we  could  have  seen  Mont  Blanc 
and  the  mountains  of  Savoy.  I  could  not  help  envying 
the  feelings  of  the  Swiss,  wrho,  after  long  absence  from  their 
native  land,  first  see  the  Alps  from  this  road.  If  to  the 
emotions  with  which  I  then  looked  on  them  were  added  the 
passionate  love  of  home  and  country  which  a  long  absence 
creates,  such  excess  of  rapture  would  be  almost  too  great  to 
he  borne. 

In  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the  border,  and  took  leave  of 
Germany  with  regret,  after  near  a  year’s  residence  within 
its  borders.  Still  it  was  pleasant  to  know  that  we  were  in 
a  republic  once  more,  and  the  first  step  we  took  made  us 
aware  of  the  change.  There  was  no  policeman  to  call  for  our 
passports  or  search  our  baggage.  It  was  just  dark  when 
we  reached  the  hill  overlooking  the  Rhine,  on  whose 
steep  hanks  is  perched  the  antique  town  of  Schaffliausen. 
It  is  still  walled  in,  with  towers  at  regular  intervals  ;  the 
streets  are  wide  and  spacious,  and  the  houses  rendered  ex¬ 
tremely  picturesque  by  the  quaint  projecting  windows.  The 
buildings  are  nearly  all  old,  as  we  learned  by  the  dates 
above  the  doors.  At  the  inn,  I  met  with  one  of  the  free 
troopers  who  marched  against  Luzerne.  He  was  full  of 
spirit,  and  ready  to  undertake  another  such  journey.  Indeed 
it  is  the  universal  opinion  that  the  present  condition  of  things 
cannot  last  much  longer. 

We  took  a  walk  before  breakfast  to  the  falls  of  the  Rhine, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Schaffliausen.  I  confess  I  was 
somewhat  disappointed  in  them,  after  the  glowing  descrip¬ 
tions  of  travellers.  The  river  at  this  place  is  little  more 


304 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


than  thirty  yards  wide,  and  the  body  of  water,  although 
issuing  from  the  Lake  of  Constance,  is  not  remarkably  strong. 
For  some  distance  above,  the  fall  of  the  water  is  very  rapid, 
and  as  it  finally  reaches  the  spot  where,  narrowed  between 
rocks,  it  makes  the  grand  plunge,  it  has  acquired  a  great 
velocity.  Three  rocks  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  current, 
which  thunders  against  and  around  their  bases,  but  cannot 
shake  them  down.  These  and  the  rocks  in  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  break  the  force  of  the  fall,  so  that  it  descends  to  the 
bottom,  about  fifty  feet  below,  not  in  one  sheet,  but  shivered 
into  a  hundred  leaps  of  snowy  foam.  The  precipitous 
shores,  and  the  tasteful  little  castle  which  is  perched  upon 
the  steep  just  over  the  boiling  spray,  add  much  to  its  beauty, 
taken  as  a  picture.  As  a  specimen  of  the  picturesque,  the 
whole  scene  is  perfect.  I  should  think  Trenton  Falls,  in 
New  York,  must  excel  these  in  wild,  startling  effect;  but 
there  is  such  a  scarcity  of  waterfalls  in  this  land,  that  the 
Germans  go  into  raptures  about  them,  and  will  hardly  be¬ 
lieve  that  Niagara  itself  possesses  more  sublimity. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A  WALK  THROUGH  EASTERN  SWITZERLAND . 

Canton  Zurich — The  Country  and  People — The  City  of  Zurich — Its  Promenades — 
Friendly  Greetings — Walk  along  the  Lake  Shore — The  Alp-Glow— rThe  Grave  of 
Ulrich  von  Hutten — Freiligrath,  the  Banished  Poet — The  Alps  in  the  Bain — Ein- 
siedeln — The  Cathedral  and  Pilgrims — Music — Alpine  Scenery — The  Slide  of  the 
Eossherg — Schwytz — The  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons — The  Meadow  of  Grutli— Telia 
Chapel — Altorf— Night  in  the  Valley  of  the  Eeuss.. 


We  left  Schaff  hausen  for  Zurich,  in  mist  and  rain,  and 
walked  for  some  time  along  the  northern  bank  of  the  Rhine. 
We  could  have  enjoyed  the  scenery  much  better,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  rain,  which  not  only  hid  the  mountains  from 
sight,  but  kept  us  constantly  half  soaked.  We  crossed 
the  rapid  Rhine  at  Eglisau,  a  curious  antique  village,  and 
then  continued  our  way  through  the  forests  of  Canton  Zu¬ 
rich,  to  Biilach,  with  its  groves  of  lindens — “  those  tall  and 
stately  trees,  with  velvet  down  upon  their  shining  leaves, 
and  rustic  benches  placed  beneath  their  overhangingeaves.” 
When  we  left  the  little  village  where  the  rain  obliged  us  to 
stop  for  the  night,  it  was  clear  and  delightful.  The  far¬ 
mers  were  out,  busy  at  work,  their  long,  straight  scythe* 


306 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


glancing  through  the  wet  grass,  while  the  thick  pines 
sparkled  with  thousands  of  dewy  diamonds.  The  farm¬ 
houses  were  scattered  over  the  country  in  real  American 
style,  and  the  glorious  valley  of  the  Limmat,  bordered  on 
the  west  by  a  range  of  woody  hills,  reminded  me  of  some 
scenes  in  my  native  Pennsylvania.  The  houses  were  neat¬ 
ly  and  tastefully  built,  with  little  gardens  around  them,  and 
the  countenances  of  the  people  spoke  of  intelligence  and 
independence.  I  fancied  I  could  read  on  the  brows  of  the 
Swiss  a  lofty  self-respect,  a  consciousness  of  the  liberties 
they  enjoy,  which  the  Germans  of  the  laboring  class  never 
show. 

As  we  approached  Zurich,  the  noise  of  employment  from 
mills,  furnaces  and  factories,  came  to  us  like  familiar  sounds, 
reminding  us  of  the  hustle  of  our  home  towns.  The  situa¬ 
tion  of  the  city  is  lovely.  It  lies  at  the  head  of  the  lake, 
and  on  both  sides  of  the  little  river  Limmat,  whose  clear 
green  waters  carry  the  collected  meltings  of  the  Alps  to  the 
Rhine.  Around  the  lake  rise  lofty  green  hills,  which,  slop¬ 
ing  gently  back,  bear  on  their  sides  hundreds  of  pleasant 
country-houses  and  farms,  and  the  snowy  Alpine  range  ex¬ 
tends  along  the  southern  sky.  The  Limmat  is  spanned  by 
a  number  of  bridges,  and  its  swift  waters  turn  many  mills 
which  are  built  above  them.  From  these  bridges  one  can 
look  out  over  the  blue  lake  and  down  the  thronged  streets 
of  the  city  on  each  side,  whose  bright,  cheerful  houses  are 
prophetic  of  Italy. 

.  t 

Zurich  can  boast  of  finer  promenades  than  any  other  city 
in  Switzerland.  The  old  battlements  are  planted  with  trees 
and  transformed  into  pleasant  walks,  which  being  elevated 


FRIENDLY  GREETINGS. 


307 


above  the  city,  command  views  of  its  beautiful  environs.  A 
favorite  place  of  resort  is  the  Lindenliof,  an  elevated  court¬ 
yard,  shaded  by  immense  trees.  The  fountains  of  water 
under  them  are  always  surrounded  by  washerwomen,  and  in 
the  morning  groups  of  merry  school  children  may  be  seen 
tumbling  over  the  grass.  The  teachers  take  them  there  in 
a  body  for  exercise  and  recreation.  The  Swiss  children  are 
beautiful,  bright-eyed  creatures ;  there  is  scarcely  one  who 
does  not  exhibit  the  dawning  of  an  active,  energetic  spirit. 
It  may  be  partly  attributed  to  the  fresh,  healthy  climate  of 
Switzerland,  but  I  am  republican  enough  to  believe  that  the 
influence  of  the  Government  under  which  they  live,  has  also 
its  share  in  producing  the  effect. 

While  enjoying  the  cool  morning  breeze  on  the  bastion, 
and  listening  to  the  stir  of  the  streets  below  us,  we  were 
also  made  aware  of  the  social  and  friendly  politeness  of  the 
people.  ‘  Those  who  passed  us,  on  their  walk  around  the 
ramparts,  greeted  us  almost  with  the  familiarity  of  acquaint¬ 
ances.  Simple  as  was  the  act,  we  felt  grateful,  for  it  had  at 
least  the  seeming  of  a  friendly  interest  and  a  sympathy  with 
the  loneliness  which  the  stranger  sometimes  feels.  A  school 
teacher  leading  her  troop  of  merry  children  on  their  morn¬ 
ing  walk  around  the  bastion,  nodded  to  us  pleasantly,  and 
forthwith  the  whole  company  of  chubby-clieeked  rogues, 
looking  up  at  us  with  a  pleasant  archness,  lisped  a  “  guten 
morgen  ”  that  made  the  hearts  glad  within  us.  I  kno^r  of 
nothing  that  has  given  me  a  more  sweet  and  tender  delight 
than  the  greeting  of  a  little  child,  who,  leaving  his  noisy 
playmates,  ran  across  the  street  to  me,  and  taking  my  hand 
which  he  could  barely  clasp  in  both  his  own  soft  little  ones, 


308 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


looked  up  in  my  face  with  an  expression  so  winning  and 
affectionate,  that  I  loved  him  at  once.  The  happy,  honest 
farmers,  too,  spoke  to  us  cheerfully  everywhere.  We  learned 
a  lesson  from  all  this — we  felt  that  not  a  word  of  kindness 
is  ever  wasted,  that  a  simple  friendly  glance  may  cheer  the 
spirit  and  warm  the  lonely  heart,  and  that  the  slightest  * 
deed,  prompted  by  generous  sympathy,  becomes  a  living 
joy  in  the  memory  of  the  receiver,  which  blesses  unceasingly 
him  who  bestowed  it. 

We  left  Zurich  the  same  afternoon,  for  Stafa,  where  we 
were  told  the  poet  Freiligrath  resided.  The  road  led  along 
the  bank  of  the  lake,  whose  shores  sloped  gently  up  from  the 
water,  covered  with  gardens  and  farm-houses,  which,  with 
the  bolder  mountains  that  rose  behind  them,  made  a  com¬ 
bination  of  the  lovely  and  grand,  on  which  the  eye  rested 
with  rapture.  The  sweetest  cottages  were  embowered  among 
the  orchards,  and  the  whole  country  bloomed  like  a  garden. 
The  waters  of  the  lake  are  of  a  pale,  transparent  green,  and 
so  clear  that  we  could  see  its  bottom  of  white  pebbles,  for 
some  distance.  Here  and  there  a  quiet  boat  floated  on  its 
surface.  The  opposite  hills  were  covered  with  a  soft  blue 
haze,  and  white  villages  sat  along  the  shore,  “  like  swans 
among  the  reeds.”  Behind,  we  saw  the  woody  range  of  the 
Brunig  Alp.  The  people  bade  us  a  pleasant  good  evening ; 
there  was  a  universal  air  of  cheerfulness  and  content  on 
their  countenances. 

Towards  evening,  the  clouds,  which  had  hung  in  the  south 
all  day,  dispersed  a  little,  and  we  could  see  the  Dodiberg  and 
the  Alps  of  Glarus.  As  sunset  drew  on,  the  broad  summits 
of  snow  and  the  clouds  which  were  rolled  around  them,  as- 


THE  ALP-GLOW. 


309 


sumed  a  Soit  rosy  hue,  which  increased  in  brilliancy  as  the 
light  of  day  faded.  The  rough,  icy  crags  and  snowy  steeps 
were  fused  in  the  warm  light  and  half  blended  with  the 
bright  clouds.  This  blaze  of  the  mountains  at  sunset  is  called 
the  Alp-glow,  and  exceeds  all  one’s  highest  conceptions  of 
Alpine  grandeur.  We  watched  the  fading  glory  until  it  quite 
died  away,  and  the  summits  wore  a  livid,  ashy  hue,  like  the 
mountains  of  a  world  wherein  there  was  no  life.  In  a  few 
minutes  more  the  dusk  of  twilight  spread  over  the  scene,  the 
boatmen  glided  home  over  the  still  lake,  and  the  herdsmen 
drove  their  cattle  back  from  pasture  on  the  slopes  and 
meadows. 

On  inquiring  for  Freiligrath  at  Stafa,  we  found  he  had 
removed  to  Rapperschwyl,  some  distance  further.  As  it  was 
already  late,  we  waited  for  the  steamboat  which  leaves 
Zurich  every  evening.  It  came  along  about  eight  o’clock, 
a  little  boat  carried  us  out  through  rain  and  darkness  to 
meet  it,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  landed  on  the  wharf  at  Rap¬ 
perschwyl. 

There  are  two  small  islands  in  the  lake,  one  of  which, 
with  a  little  chapel  rising  from  among  its  green  trees,  is 
Ufnau,  the  grave  of  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  one  of  the  fathers  of 
the  German  Reformation.  His  fiery  poems  have  been  the 
source  from  which  many  a  German  bard  has  derived  his  in¬ 
spiration;  and  Freiligrath,  who  now  lives  in  sight  of  his  tomb, 
has  published  an  indignant  poem,  because  an  inn  with  gam¬ 
ing  tables  has  been  established  in  the  ruins  of  the  castle  near 
Creuznach,  where  Hutten  found  refuge  from  his  enemies  with 
Franz  von  Sickingen, brother-in-law  of  “Goetz  with  the  Iron 
Hand.’'  The  monks  of  Einsiedeln,  to  whom  Ufnau  belongs, 


310 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


have  carefully  obliterated  all  traces  of  his  grave,  so  that  the 
exact  spot  is  not  known,  in  order  that  even  a  tombstone 
might  be  denied  him  who  once  strove  to  overturn  their 
order.  It  matters  little  to  that  bold  spirit  whose  motto  was — 
“The  die  is  cast — I  have  dared  it!” — the  whole  island  is 
his  monument,  if  he  need  one 

I  spent  the  whole  of  the  next  morning  with  Freiligrath, 
the  poet,  who  wras  lately  banished  from  Germany  on  account 
of  the  liberal  principles  his  last  volume  contains.  He  lives 
in  a  pleasant  country-house  on  the  Meyerberg,  an  eminence 
near  Eapperschwyl,  overlooking  a  glorious  prospect.  He 
received  me  kindly  and  conversed  much  upon  American  lite¬ 
rature.  He  is  a  warm  admirer  of  Bryant  and  Longfellow, 
and  has  translated  many  of  their  poems  into  German.  He 
said  he  had  received  a  warm  invitation  from  a  colony  of 
Germans  in  Wisconsin,  to  join  them  and  enjoy  that  freedom 
which  his  native  land  denies,  but  that  his  circumstances 
would  not  allow  it  at  present.  He  is  perhaps  thirty-live 
years  of  age.  His  brow  is  high  and  noble,  and  his  eyes, 
which  are  large  and  of  a  clear  gray,  beam  with  serious,  sad¬ 
dened  thought.  His  long  chestnut  hair,  uniting  with  a  hand¬ 
some  beard  and  moustache,  gives  a  lion-like  dignity  to  his 
energetic  countenance.  His  talented  wdfe,  Ida  Freiligrath, 
who  shares  his  literary  labors,  and  an  amiable  sister,  are  with 
him  in  exile,  and  he  is  happier  in  their  faithfulness  than  when 
he  enjoyed  the  favors  of  a  corrupt  king. 

We  crossed  the  long  bridge  from  Eapperschwyl,  and  took 
the  road  over  the  mountain  opposite,  ascending  for  nearly 
two  hours  along  the  side,  wTith  glorious  views  of  the  Lake  of 
Zurich  and  the  mountains  which  inclose  it.  The  upper  and 


EIXSIEDELN. 


311 


lower  ends  of  the  lake  were  completely  hidden  by  the  storms, 
which,  to  our  regret,  veiled  the  Alps,  but  that  portion  below 
us  lay  spread  out  dim  and  grand,  like  a  vast  picture.  It  rained 
almost  constantly,  and  we  were  obliged  occasionally  to  take 
shelter  in  the  pine  forests,  whenever  a  heavier  cloud  passed 
over.  The  road  was  lined  with  beggars,  who  dropped  on 
their  knees  in  the  rain  before  us,  or  placed  bars  across  the 
way,  and  then  took  them  down  again,  for  which  they  de¬ 
manded  money. 

At  length  we  reached  the  top  of  the  pass,  where  many  pil¬ 
grims  to  Einsiedeln  had  stopped  at  a  little  inn.  Some  of  them 
had  come  a  long  distance  to  pay  their  vows,  especially  as 
the  next  day  was  the  Ascension  day  of  the  Virgin,  whose 
image  at  Einsiedeln  is  noted  for  performing  many  miracles. 
Passing  on,  we  crossed  a  wild  torrent  by  an  arch  called  the 
“  Devil’s  Bridge.”  The  lofty,  elevated  plains  were  covered 
with  scanty  patches  of  grain  and  potatoes,  and  the  boys 
tended  their  goats  on  the  grassy  slopes,  sometimes  trilling  or 
yodling  an  Alpine  melody.  An  hour’s  walk  brought  us  to 
Einsiedeln,  a  small  town,  whose  only  attraction  is  the  Abbey 
— after  Loretto,  in  Italy,  the  most  celebrated  resort  for  pil¬ 
grims  in  Europe. 

We  immediately  entered  the  great  church.  The  gorgeous 
vaulted  roof  and  long  aisles  were  dim  with  the  early  evening ; 
hundreds  of  worshippers  sat  around  the  sides,  or  knelt  in 
groups  on  the  broad  stone  pavements,  repeating  their  Pater¬ 
nosters  and  Ave  Marias  in  a  shrill,  monotonous  tone,  while 
the  holy  image  near  the  entrance  was  surrounded  by  persons, 
many  of  whom  came  in  the  hope  of  being  healed  of  some  dis¬ 
order  under  which  they  suffered.  I  could  not  distinctly 


* 


312 


VIEWS  A-FOOT 


make  out  the  image,  for  it  was  placed  back  within  the 
grating,  and  a  crimson  lamp  behind  it  threw  a  strong  lustre 
on  all  sides,  in  the  form  of  a  glory.  Many  of  the  pilgrims 
came  a  long  distance.  I  saw  some  in  the  costume  of  the 
Black  Forest,  others  who  appeared  to  he  natives  of  the 
Italian  Cantons,  and  a  group  of  young  women  wearing  conical 
fur  caps,  from  the  forests  of  Bregenz,  on  the  Lake  of  Constance. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  splendor  of  this  church,  situated 
in  a  lonely  and  unproductive  Alpine  valley.  The  lofty 
arches  of  the  ceiling,  which  are  covered  with  fresco  paint¬ 
ings,  rest  on  enormous  pillars  of  granite,  and  every  image 
and  shrine  is  richly  ornamented  with  gold.  Some  of  the 
chapels  were  filled  with  the  remains  of  martyrs,  and  these 
wrere  always  surrounded  with  throngs  of  believers.  The 
choir  was  closed  by  a  tall  iron  grating ;  but  a  single  lamp, 
which  swung  from  the  roof  enabled  me  to  see  through  the 

darkness,  that  though  much  richer  in  ornaments  than  the 

% 

body  of  the  church,  it  was  less  grand  and  impressive.  The 
frescoes  which  cover  the  ceiling  are  said  to  be  the  finest 
paintings  of  the  kind  in  Switzerland. 

In  the  morning  our  departure  was  delayed  by  the  rain, 
and  we  took  advantage  of  it  to  hear  mass  in  the  Abbey  and 
enjoy  the  heavenly  music.  The  latter  was  of  the  loftiest 
kind  ;  there  was  one  voice  among  the  singers  I  shall  not 
soon  forget.  It  was  like  the  w^arble  of  a  bird  which  sings 
out  of  very  wantonness.  On  and  on  it  sounded,  making  its 
clear,  radiant  sweetness  heard  above  the  chant  of  the  choir 
and  the  thunder  of  the  orchestra.  Such  a  rich,  varied,  and 
untiring  strain  of  melody  I  have  rarely  listened  to. 

When  the  service  ceased,  we  took  a  small  road  leading  to 


THE  SLIDE  OF  THE  ROSSBERG. 


313 


Schwytz.  We  had  now  fairly  entered  the  Alpine  region, 
and  our  first  task  was  to  cross  a  mountain.  This  having 
been  done*  we  kept  along  the  back  of  the  ridge  which 
bounds  the  lake  of  Zug  on  the  south,  terminating  in  the  well 
known  Rossberg.  The  scenery  became  wilder  with  every 
step.  The  luxuriant  fields  of  herbage  on  the  mountains 
were  spotted  with  the  picturesque  chalets  of  the  hunters  and 
Alp-herds  ;  cattle  and  goats  were  browsing  along  the  de¬ 
clivities,  their  bells  tinkling  most  musically,  and  the  little 
streams  fell  in  foam  down  the  steeps.  I  here  began  to 
realize  my  anticipations  of  Swiss  scenery.  Just  on  the 
other  side  of  the  range,  along  which  we  travelled,  lay  the 
little  lake  of  Egeri  and  the  valley  of  Morganten,  where  Tell 
and  his  followers  overcame  the  army  of  the  German  Em¬ 
peror.  As  we  wound  around  the  lake  of  Lowertz,  we  saw 
the  valley  lying  between  the  Rossberg  and  the  Righi,  which 
latter  mountain  stood  full  in  view.  To  our  regret,  and  that 
of  all  other  travellers,  the  clouds  hung  low  upon  it,  as  they 
had  done  for  a  week  at  least,  and  there  was  no  prospect  of 
a  change.  The  Rossberg,  from  which  we  descended,  is 
about  four  thousand  feet  in  height ;  a  dark  brown  stripe 
from  its  very  summit  to  the  valley  below,  shows  the  track 
of  the  avalanche  which,  in  1806,  overwhelmed  Goldau,  and 
laid  waste  the  beautiful  vale  of  Lowertz.  Four  hundred 
and  fifty  persons  perished  by  this  catastrophe,  which  was  so 
sudden  that  in  five  minutes  the  whole  lovely  valley  was 
transformed  into  a  desolate  wilderness. 

An  hour’s  walk  through  a  blooming  Alpine  vale  brought 

us  to  the  little  town  of  Schwytz,  the  capital  of  the  Canton, 

which  stands  at  the  foot  of  a  tremendous  rock-mountain. 

14 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


314 


The  bare  and  rugged  summits  hang  directly  over  the  town, 
but  the  people  dwell  below  without  fear,  although  the 
warning  ruins  of  Goldau  are  full  in  sight.  A  narrow  blue 
line  at  the  end  of  the  valley  which  stretches  westward, 
marks  the  lake  of  the  Four  Cantons.  Down  this  valley  we 
hurried,  that  we  might  not  miss  the  boat  which  plies  daily 
from  Luzerne  to  Fluelen.  I  regretted  not  being  able  to  visit 
Luzerne,  as  I  had  a  letter  to  the  distinguished  Swiss  com¬ 
poser,  Schnyder  van  Wartensee,  who  resides  there  at  present. 

The  scenery  of  the  lake  is  exceedingly  grand.  Looking 
towards  Luzerne,  we  could  see  the  dark  mass  of  Mount 
Pilatus  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  graceful  outline  of 
the  Piglii,  still  wearing  his  hood  of  clouds.  We  put  off  in 
a  skiff  to  meet  the  boat,  with  two  Capuchin  friars  in  long 
brown  mantles  and  cowls,  carrying  rosaries  at  their  girdles. 

Nearly  opposite  Schwytz  is  the  meadow  of  Grutli,  where 
the  union  of  the  Swiss  patriots  took  place,  and  the  bond  was 
sealed  that  enabled  them  to  cast  off  their  chains.  It  is  a 
little  green  slope  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  between  the 
two  Cantons  of  Uri  and  LTnterwalden,  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  precipices.  A  crystal  spring  in  the  centre  is 
believed  by  the  common  people  to  have  gushed  up  on  the 
spot  where  the  three  “men  of  Grutli  ”  joined  their  hands  in 
the  cause  of  Swiss  liberty.  It  is  also  a  popular  belief  that 
they  slumber  in  a  rocky  cavern  near  the  spot,  and  that  they 
will  arise  and  come  forth  when  the  nation  is  in  danger. 
Switzerland  at  present  stands  greatly  in  need  of  a  new  triad 
to  restore  the  ancient  harmony. 

We  passed  this  glorious  scene,  almost  the  only  green  spot 
on  the  bleak  mountain-side,  and  swept  around  the  base  of 


tell's  chapel. 


$15 


the  Axenberg,  at  the  foot  of  which,  in  a  rocky  cave,  stands 
the  chapel  of  William  Tell,  built  on  the  spot  where  he  leaped 
from  Gessler’s  boat  during  the  storm.  It  sits  at  the  base  of 
the  rock,  on  the  water’s  edge,  and  can  be  seen  far  over  the 
waves.  The  Alps,  whose  eternal  snows  are  lifted  dazzling 
to  the  sky,  complete  the  grandeur  of  a  scene  so  hallowed  by 
the  footsteps  of  Freedom.  The  grand  and  lonely  solemnity 
of  the  landscape  impressed  me  with  an  awe,  like  that  one 
feels  when  standing  in  a  mighty  cathedral,  when  the  aisles 
are  dim  with  twilight.  And  how  full  of  interest  to  a  citizen 
of  young  and  free  America  is  a  shrine  where  the  votaries  of 
Liberty  have  turned  to  gather  strength  and  courage,  through 
the  storms  and  convulsions  of  five  hundred  years ! 

We  stopped  at  the  village  of  Fluelen,  at  the  head  of  the 
lake,  and  walked  on  to  Altorf,  a  distance  of  half  a  league. 
Here,  in  the  market-place,  is  a  tower,  said  to  be  built  on  the 
spot  where  the  linden  tree  stood,  under  which  the  child  of 
Tell  was  placed,  while,  about  a  hundred  yards  distant,  is  a 
fountain  with  Tell’s  statue,  on  the  spot  from  whence  he  shot 
the  apple.  If  these  localities  are  correct,  he  must  indeed 
have  been  master  of  the  cross-bow.  The  tower  is  covered 
with  rude  paintings  of  the  principal  events  in  the  history  of 
Swiss  liberty.  I  viewed  these  scenes  with  double  interest 
from  having  read  Schiller’s  “Wilhelm  Tell,”  just  before 
leaving  Germany.  The  beautiful  reply  of  his  boy,  when  he 
described  to  him  the  condition  of  the  “land  where  there  are 
no  mountains,”  was  sounding  in  my  ears  during  the  whole 
day’s  journey  : 

“  Father,  I’d  feel  oppressed  in  that  broad  land, 

I’d  rather  dwell  beneath  the  avalanche !  ” 


310 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


The  little  village  of  Burglen,  whose  spire  we  saw  above 
the  forest,  in  a  glen  near  by,  was  the  birth-place  of  Tell, 
and  the  place  where  his  dwelling  stood,  is  now  marked  by  a 
small  chapel.  In  the  Schachen,  a  noisy  mountain  stream 
that  comes  down  to  join  the  Reuss,  he  was  drowned,  when 
an  old  man,  in  attempting  to  rescue  a  child  who  had  fallen 
in — a  death  worthy  of  the  hero  !  We  bestowed  a  blessing 
on  his  memory  in  passing,  and  then  followed  the  banks  of 
the  rapid  Reuss,  Twilight  was  gathering  in  the  deep 
Alpine  glen,  and  the  mountains  on  each  side,  half-seen 
through  the  mist,  looked  like  vast,  awful  phantoms.  Soon 
they  darkened  to  black,  indistinct  masses ;  all  was  silent 
except  the  deepened  roar  of  the  falling  floods  ;  dark  clouds 
brooded  above  us  like  the  outspread  wings  of  night,  and  we 
were  glad  when  the  little  village  of  Amstegg  was  reached, 
and  the  parlor  of  the  inn  opened  to  us  a  more  cheerful,  if 
less  romantic  scene. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


PASSAGE  OF  THE  ST.  GOTHARD. 

An  Alpine  Day — Chasm  of  the  Reuss— The  Devil’s  Bridge— Andermatt — Climbing 
the  St.  Gothard — Summit  of  the  Pass — A  Rapid  Descent  into  Italy — Yalley  of  the 
Ticino— Rugged  Scenery — Southern  Vegetation— Vineyards — Italian  Experiences — 
Junction  with  the  Splugen  Road — Bacchus — On  Lago  Maggiore — The  Borromean 
Isles — Landing  in  Lombardy — An  Italian  Landlord — Arrival  at  Milan. 

« 

Leaving  Amstegg,  I  passed  the  whole  day  among  snowy, 
sky-piercing  Alps,  torrents,  chasms  and  clouds  !  The  clouds 
appeared  to  be  breaking  up  as  we  set  out,  and  the  white 
top  of  the  Reussberg  was  now  and  then  visible  in  the  sky. 
Just  above  the  village  are  the  remains  of  Zwing  Uri,  the 
castle  begun  by  the  tyrant  Gessler,  for  the  complete  subju^ 
gation  of  the  canton.  Following  the  Reuss  up  through  a 
narrow  valley,  we  passed  the  Bristenstock,  which  lifts  its 
jagged  crags  nine  thousand  feet  in  the  air,  while  on  the 
other  side  stand  the  snowy  summits  which  lean  towards  the 
Rhone  Glacier  and  St.  Gothard.  From  the  deep  glen 

where  the  Reuss  foamed  down  towards  the  Lake  of  the 

» 

Forest  Cantons,  the  mountains  rose  with  a  majestic  sweep 
so  far  into  the  sky  that  the  brain  grew  dizzy  in  following 


318 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


their  outlines.  Woods,  chalets,  and  slopes  of  herbage 
covered  their  bases,  where  the  mountain  cattle  and  goats 
were  browsing,  while  the  herd-boys  sang  their  native  melo¬ 
dies  or  woke  the  ringing  echoes  with  the  loud,  sweet  sounds 
of  their  wooden  horns  ;  higher  up,  the  sides  were  broken 
into  crags  and  covered  with  stunted  pines  ;  then  succeeded 
a  belt  of  bare  rock  with  a  little  snow  lying  in  the  crevices, 
and  the  summits  of  dazzling  white  looked  out  from  the 
clouds  half-way  to  the  zenith.  Sometimes  when  the  vale 
was  filled  with  clouds,  it  was  startling  to  see  them  parting 
around  a  solitary  summit,  apparently  isolated  in  the  air  at 
an  immense  height,  for  the  mountain  to  which  it  belonged 
was  hidden  to  the  very  base  ! 

The  road  passed  from  one  side  of  the  valley  to  the  other, 
crossing  the  Reuss  on  bridges  sometimes  ninety  feet  high. 
After  three  or  four  hours’  walking,  we  reached  a  frightful 
pass  called  the  Schollenen0  So  narrow  is  the  defile  that,  be¬ 
fore  reaching  it,  the  road  seemed  to  enter  directly  into  the 
mountain.  Precipices  a  thousand  feet  high  tower  above,  and 
the  stream  roars  and  boils  in  the  black  depth  below.  The 
road  is  a  wonder  of  art ;  it  winds  around  the  edge  of  horri¬ 
ble  chasms  or  is  carried  on  lofty  arches  across,  with  some¬ 
times  a  hold  apparently  so  frail  that  one  involuntarily  shud¬ 
ders.  At  a  place  called  the  Devil’s  Bridge,  the  Reuss  leaps 
about  seventy  feet  in  three  or  four  cascades,  sending  up  a 
continual  cloud  of  spray,  while  a  wind  created  by  the  fall, 
blows  and  whirls  around,  with  a  force  that  nearly  lifts  one 
from  his  feet. 

Beyond  the  Devil’s  Bridge,  the  mountains  which  nearly 
touched  before,  interlock  into  each  other,  and  a  tunnel  three 


CLIMBING  THE  ST.  GOTHARD. 


319 


hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  long  leads  through  the  rock 
into  the  vale  of  Urseren,  surrounded  by  the  Upper  Alps. 
The  little  town  of  Andermatt  lies  in  the  middle  of  this  val¬ 
ley,  which,  with  the  peaks  around,  is  covered  with  short  yel¬ 
lowish-brown  grass.  We  met  near  Amstegg  a  little  Italian 
boy  walking  home  from  Germany,  quite  alone  and  without 
money,  for  we  saw  him  give  his  last  kreutzer  to  a  blind  beg¬ 
gar  along  the  road.  We  therefore  took  him  with  us,  as  he 
was  afraid  to  cross  the  St.  Gothard  alone. 

After  refreshing  ourselves  at  Andermatt,  we  started,  five 
in  number,  including  a  German  student,  for  the  St.  Gothard. 
Behind  the  village  of  Hospiz,  which  stands  at  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  leading  to  Realp  and  the  Furca  pass,  the  way 
commences  winding  backwards  and  forwards,  higher  and 
higher,  through  a  valley  covered  with  rocks,  with  the  mighty 
summits  of  the  Alps  around,  untenanted  save  by  the  chamois 
*  and  mountain  eagle.  Not  a  tree  was  to  be  seen.  The  sides 
of  the  mountains  were  covered  with  loose  rocks  waiting  for 
the  next  rain  to  wash  them  down,  and  the  tops  were  robed 
in  eternal  snow.  A  thick  cloud  rolled  over  us  as  we  went 
on,  following  the  diminishing  brooks  to  their  snowy  source 
in  the  peak  of  St.  Gothard.  We  cut  off  the  bends  of  the 
road  by  footpaths  up  the  rocks,  which  we  ascended 
in  single  file,  little  Pietro  with  his  staff  and  bundle 
bringing  up  the  rear.  The  rarefied  air  we  breathed,  seven 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  was  like  exhilarating  gas.  We 
felt  no  fatigue,  but  ran  and  shouted  and  threw  snow-balls  in 
the  middle  of  August ! 

After  three  hours’  walk  we  reached  the  two  clear  and 
silent  lakes  which  send  their  waters  to  the  Adriatic  and  the 


s:o 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


North  Sea.  Here,  as  we  looked  down  on  the  Italian  side,  the 

* 

sky  became  clear  ;  we  saw  the  top  of  St.  Gothard  many 
thousand  feet  above,  and  stretching  to  the  south,  the  sum¬ 
mits  of  the  mountains  which  guard  the  vales  of  the  Ticino 
and  the  Adda.  The  former  monastery  has  been  turned 
into  an  inn  •  there  is,  however,  a  kind  of  church  attached, 
attended  by  a  single  monk.  It  was  so  cold  that,  although 
late,  we  determined  to  descend  to  the  first  village.  The 
Italian  side  is  very  steep,  and  the  road,  called  the  Via 
Trimola,  is  like  a  thread  dropped  down  and  constantly 
doubling  back  upon  itself.  The  deep  chasms  were  filled  with 
snow,  although  exposed  to  the  full  force  of  the  sun,  aad  for 
a  long  distance  there  was  scarcely  a  sign  of  vegetation. 

I  thought,  as  we  went  down,  that  every  step  was  bringing 
me  nearer  to  a  sunnier  land — that  the  glories  of  Italy, 
which  had  so  long  lain  in  the  airy  background  of  the  future, 
would  soon  spread  themselves  before  me  in  their  real  or 
imagined  beauty.  Reaching  at  dusk  the  last  height  above 
the  vale  of  the  Ticino,  we  saw  the  little  village  of  Airolo, 
with  its  musical  name,  lying  in  a  hollow  of  the  mountains.  A 
few  minutes  of  leaping,  sliding,  and  rolling,  took  us  down 
the  grassy  declivity,  and  we  found  we  had  descended  from 
the  top  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  although  the  distance  by 
the  road  is  nine  miles  !  I  need  not  say  how  glad  we  were 
to  relieve  our  trembling  knees  and  exhausted  limbs.  When 
at  night,  I  looked  out  of  my  chamber-window,  the  silver 
moon  of  Italy  (for  we  fancied  that  her  light  was  softer  and 
that  the  skies  were  already  bluer)  hung  trembling  above  the 
fields  of  snow  that  stretched  in  their  wintry  brilliance  along 
the  mountains  around.  I  heard  the  roar  of  the  Ticino  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TICINO. 


321 


the  deepened  sound  of  falling  cascades,  and  thought,  if  I 
were  to  take  those  waters  for  my  guide,  to  what  glorious 
places  they  would  lead  me  ! 

We  left  Airolo  early  the  next  morning,  to  continue  our 
journey  down  the  valley  of  the  Ticino.  The  mists  and 
clouds  of  Switzerland  were  exchanged  for  a  -sky  of  the 
purest  blue,  and  we  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  ten  days, 
uncomfortably  warm.  The  mountains  which  flank  the  Alps 
on  this  side,  are  still  giants — lofty  and  bare,  and  covered 
with  snow  in  many  places.  The  limit  of  the  German 
dialect  is  on  the  summit  of  St.  Gothard,  and  the  peasants 
saluted  us  with  a  “  buon  giorno ,”  as  they  passed.  This, 
with  the  clearness  of  the  skies  and  the  warmth  of  the  air, 
made  us  feel  that  Italy  was  growing  nearer. 

On  our  first  day’s  journey  we  passed  through  two  terrific 
mountain  gorges,  almost  equalling  in  grandeur  the  defile  of 
the  “  Devil’s  Bridge.”  The  Ticino,  in  its  course  to  Lago 
Maggiore,  has  to  make  a  descent  of  nearly  three  thousand 
feet,  passing  through  three  valleys,  which  lie  like  terraces, 
one  below  the  other.  In  passing  from  one  to  the  other,  it 
forces  its  way  in  twenty  cataracts  through  a  cleft  in  the 
mountains.  The  road,  constructed  with  the  utmost  labor, 
threads  these  dark  chasms,  sometimes  carried  in  a  tunnel 
through  the  rock,  sometimes  passing  on  arches  above  the 
boiling  flood.  I  here  noticed  a  very  beautiful  effect  of  the 
water,  perhaps  attributable  to  some  mineral  substance  it 
contained.  The  spray  and  foam  thrown  up  in  the  dashing 
of  the  vexed  current,  was  of  a  light,  delicate  pink,  although 
the  stream  itself  was  a  soft  blue ;  and  the  contrast  of  these 

two  colors  was  very  remarkable. 

14* 


322 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


As  we  kept  on,  however,  there  was  a  very  perceptible 
change  in  the  scenery.  The  gloomy  pines  disappeared,  and 
the  mountains  were  covered,  in  their  stead,  with  picturesque 
chestnut  trees,  with  leaves  of  a  shining  green.  The  grass 
and  vegetation  were  much  more  luxuriant  than  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Alps,  and  fields  of  maize  and  mulberry  orchards 
covered  the  valley.  We  saw  the  people  busy  at  work  reel¬ 
ing  silk  in  the  villages.  Every  mile  we  advanced  made  a 
sensible  change  in  the  vegetation.  The  chestnuts  were  larg¬ 
er,  the  maize  higher,  the  few  straggling  grape-vines  increased 
into  bowers  and  vineyards,  while  the  gardens  were  filled 
with  plum,  pear  and  fig-trees,  and  the  display  of  delicious 
fruit  which  we  saw  in  the  villages,  gave  us  promise  of  the 
luxuriance  that  was  to  come. 

The  vineyards  are  much  more  beautiful  than  the  German 
fields  of  stakes.  The  vines  are  not  trimmed,  but  grow  from 
year  to  year  over  a  frame  higher  than  the  head,  supported 
through  the  whole  field  on  stone  pillars.  They  interlace 
and  form  a  complete  leafy  screen,  while  the  clusters  hang 
below.  The  light  came  dimly  through  the  green,  transpa¬ 
rent  leaves,  and  nothing  was  wanting  to  make  them  real 
bowers  of  Arcadia.  Although  we  were  still  in  Switzerland, 
the  people  began  to  have  that  lazy,  indolent  look  which 
characterizes  the  Italians ;  most  of  the  occupations  were 
carried  on  in  the  open  air,  and  brown-robed,  sandalled  friars 
were  going  about  from  house  to  house,  collecting  money  and 
provisions  for  their  support. 

We  passed,  Faido  and  Giornico,  near  which  last  village 
are  the  remains  of  an  old  castle,  supposed  to  have  been 
built  by  the  ancient  Gauls,  and  stopped  for  the  night  at 


ALPINE  VALLEYS. 


323 


Cresciano,  which  being  entirely  Italian,  we  had  an  opportu¬ 
nity  to  put  in  practice  the  few  words  we  had  picked  up  from 
Pietro.  The  little  fellow  had  parted  from  us  with  regret  a 
few  hours  before,  at  Biasco,  where  he  had  relations.  The 
rustic  landlord  at  Cresciano  was  an  honest  young  fellow, 
who  tried  to  serve  us  as  well  as  he  could,  but  we  made  some 
ludicrous  mistakes  through  our  ignorance  of  the  language- 

Three  hours’  walk  brought  us  to  Bellinzona,  the  capital 
of  the  canton.  Before  reaching  it,  our  road  joined  that  of 
the  Spliigen  which  comes  down  through  the  valley  of 

Bernardino.  From  the  bridge  where  the  junction  takes 

$ 

place  we  had  a  triple  view,  the  grandeur  of  which  took  me 
by  surprise,  even  after  coming  from  Switzerland.  We  stood 
at  the  union  of  three  valleys — that  leading  to  St.  Gothard, 
terminated  by  the  glaciers  of  the  Bernese  Oberland,  that 
running  off  obliquely  to  the  Spliigen,  and  finally  the  broad 
vale  of  the  Ticino,  extending  to  Lago  Maggiore,  whose  pur¬ 
ple  mountains  closed  the  vista.  Each  valley  was  perhaps 
two  miles  broad  and  from  twenty  to  thirty  long,  and  the 
mountains  that  inclosed  them  from  five  to  seven  thousand 
feet  in  height,  so  you  may  perhaps  form  some  idea  what  a 
view  down  three  such  avenues  in  this  Alpine  temple 
would  be. 

We  left  Bellinzona  at  noon,  and  saw,  soon  after,  from  an 
eminence,  the  blue  line  of  Lago  Maggiore  stretched  across 
the  bottom  of  the  valley.  We  saw  sunset  fade  away  over 
the  lake,  but  it  was  clouded,  and  did  not  realize  my  ideal  of 
such  a  scene  in  Italy.  A  band  of  wild  Italians  paraded  up 
and  down  the  village,  drawing  one  of  their  number  in  a  hand¬ 
cart.  They  made  a  great  noise  with  a  drum  and  trumpet, 


324 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  were  received  everywhere  with  shouts  of  laughter.  A 
great  jug  of  wine  was  not  wanting,  and  the  whole  seemed 
to  me  a  very  characteristic  scene 

We  were  early  awakened  at  Magadino,  at  the  head  of 
Lago  Maggiore,  and  after  swallowing  a  hasty  breakfast,  went 
on  board  the  steamboat  “  San  Carlo,”  for  Sesto  Calende.  We 
got  under  way  at  six  o’clock,  and  were  soon  in  motion  over 
the  crystal  mirror.  The  water  is  of  the  loveliest  green  hue, 
and  so  transparent  that  we  seemed  to  be  floating  in  mid-air. 
Another  heaven  arched  far  below  us  ;  other  chains  of  moun¬ 
tains  joined  their  bases  to  those  which  surrounded  the  lake, 
and  the  mirrored  cascades  leaped  upward  to  meet  their  ori¬ 
ginals  at  the  surface.  It  may  be  because  I  have  seen  it  more 
recently,  that  the  water  of  Lago  Maggiore  appears  to  me  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  world.  I  was  delighted  with  the 
Scotch  lakes,  and  enraptured  with  the  Traunsee  and  “  Zurich’s 
waters,”  but  this  last  exceeds  them  both.  I  am  now  incapa¬ 
ble  of  any  stronger  feeling,  until  I  see  the  Egean  from  the 
Grecian  Isles. 

The  morning  was  cloudy,  and  the  white  wreaths  hung  low 
on  the  mountains,  whose  rocky  sides  were  covered  every 
where  with  the  rank  and  luxuriant  growth  of  this  climate. 
As  we  advanced  further  over  this  glorious  mirror,  the  houses 
became  more  Italian-like ;  the  lower  stories  rested  on  arched 
passages,  and  the  windows  were  open,  without  glass,  while 
in  the  gardens  stood  the  solemn,  graceful  cypress,  and  vines, 
heavy  with  ripening  grapes,  hung  from  bough  to  bough 
through  the  mulberry  orchards.  Half-way  down,  in  a  broad 
bay,  which  receives  the  waters  of  a  stream  that  descends 
with  the  Simplon,  are  the  celebrated  Borromean  Islands. 


ON  LAGO  MAGGTORE, 


325 


They  are  four  in  number,  and  seem  to  float  like  fairy  crea¬ 
tions  on  the  water,  while  the  lofty' hills  form  a  background 
whose  grandeur  enhances  by  contrast  their  exquisite  beauty. 

On  passing  by  Isola  Madre,  we  could  see  the  roses  in  its 
terraced  gardens  and  the  broad-leaved  aloes  clinging  to  the 
rocks.  Isola  Bella,  the  loveliest  of  them  all,  as  its  name 
denotes,  was  farther  off ;  it  rose  like  a  pyramid  from  the 
water,  terrace  above  terrace  to  the  summit,  and  its  gardens 
of  never  fading  foliage,  with  the  glorious  panorama  around, 
might  make  it  a  paradise,  if  life  were  to  be  dreamed  away. 
On  the  northern  side  of  the  bay  lies  a  large  town  with  a  lofty 
Romanesque  tower,  and  noble  mountains  sweep  around  as 
if  to  shut  out  the  world  from  such  a  scene.  The  lake  was 
perfectly  calm,  and  groves  and  gardens  slept  mirrored  in  the 
dark  green  wave,  while  the  Alps  rose  afar  through  the  dim, 
cloudy  air.  Towards  the  other  end  the  hills  sink  lower,  and 
slope  off  into  the  plains  of  Lombardy.  IsTear  Arona,  on  the 
western  side,  is  a  large  monastery,  overlooking  the  lower 
part  of  the  lake.  Beside  it,  on  a  hill,  is  a  colossal  statue  of 
San  Carlo  Borromeo,  who  gave  his  name  to  the  lovely  islands 
above. 

After  a  seven  hours’  passage,  we  ran  into  Sesto  Calende, 
at  the  foot  of  the  lake.  Here  passengers  and  baggage  were 
tumbled  promiscuously  on  shore,  the  latter  gathered  into  the 
office  to  be  examined,  and  the  former  left  at  liberty  to  ram¬ 
ble  about  an  hour  until  their  passports  could  be  signed.  We 
employed  the  time  in  trying  the  flavor  of  the  grapes  and 
peaches  of  Lombardy,  and  in  looking  at  the  groups  of  tra¬ 
vellers  who  had  come  down  from  the  Alps  with  the  annual 
avalanche  at  this  season.  The  custom-house  officers  were 


326 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


extremely  civil  and  obliging,  as  they  did  not  think  necessary 
to  examine  our  knapsacks,  and  our  passports  being  soon  signed, 
we  were  at  liberty  to  enter  again  into  the  dominions  of  his 
Majesty  of  Austria.  Our  companion,  the  German,  whose 
feet  could  carry  him  no  further,  took  a  seat  on  the  top  of  a 
diligence  for  Milan ;  we  left  Sesto  Calende  on  foot,  and 
plunged  into  the  cloud  of  dust  which  was  whirling  towards 
the  capital  of  Northern  Italy. 

We  spent  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Casina,  about 
sixteen  miles  from  Milan,  and  here  made  our  first  experience 
of  the  honesty  of  Italian  inns.  We  had  taken  the  precaution 
to  inquire  beforehand  the  price  of  a  bed ;  but  it  seemed  un¬ 
necessary  and  unpleasant,  as  well  as  evincing  a  mistrustful 
spirit,  to  do  the  same  with  every  article  we  asked  for,  so  we 
decided  to  leave  it  to  the  host’s  conscience  not  to  overcharge 
us  Imagine  our  astonishment,  however,  when  at  starting, 
a  bill  was  presented  to  us,  in  which  the  smallest  articles 
were  set  down  at  three  or  four  times  their  value.  We  re¬ 
monstrated,  but  to  little  purpose ;  the  fellow  knew  scarcely 
any  French,  and  we  as  little  Italian,  so  rather  than  lose  time 
and  temper,  we  paid  what  he  demanded  and  went  on,  leav¬ 
ing  him  to  laugh  at  the  successful  imposition. 

About  noon,  the  road  turned  into  a  broad  and  beautiful 
avenue  of  poplars,  down  which  we  saw  at  a  distance,  the 
triumphal  arch  terminating  the  Simplon  road,  which  we  had 
followed  from  Sesto  Calende.  Beyond  it  rose  the  slight  and 
airy  pinnacle  of  the  Duomo.  We  passed  by  the  exquisite 
structure,  gave  up  our  passports  at  the  gates,  traversed  the 

r  ^ 

broad  Piazza  d’Armi,  and  found  ourselves  at  liberty  to  choose 
one  of  the  dozen  streets  that  led  into  the  heart  of  the  city. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


MILAN  AND  THE  JOURNEY  TO  GENOA. 


The  Streets  of  Milan — The  Duomo — Its  Interior — Art  based  on  Nature — Italian 
Priestcraft— The  Arch  of  Peace — Financial  Distress — Relieved  by  a  German 
Lawyer — Thunder  Storms — Lions  in  Pavia — Crossing  the  Po — Magnificent  View 
of  the  Alps — The  Second  Day’s  Travel — An  Italian  Sunset — A  Pinta  of  Wine — 
Morning— Pilgrim  Travel — First  Yiew  of  the  Mediterranean — The  Descent  to 
Genoa. 

.  •  t 

While  seeking  our  way  at  random  to  the  “  Pension  Suisse,” 

whither  we  had  been  directed  by  a  German  gentleman,  we 

„  *  < 

were  agreeably  impressed  with  the  gaiety  and  bustle  of 
Milan.  The  shops  and  stores  are  all  open  to  the  street,  so 
that  the  city  resembles  a  great  bazaar.  It  was  odd  to  see 
blacksmiths,  tailors,  and  shoemakers,  working  unconcernedly 
in  the  open  air,  with  crowds  continually  passing  before  them. 
The  streets  are  filled  with  venders  of  fruit,  who  call  out  the 
names  with  a  long,  distressing  cry,  like  that  of  a  person 
in  great  agony.  Organ-grinders  parade  constantly  about, 
and  snatches  of  song  are  heard  among  the  gay  crowd,  on 
every  side. 


328 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


In  this  lively,  noisy  Italian  city,  nearly  all  there  is  to  see 
may  be  comprised  in  four  things  :  the  Duomo,  the  triumphal 
arch  over  the  Simplon,  La  Scala,  and  the  Picture  Gallery. 
The  first  alone  is  more  interesting  than  many  an  entire 
city.  It  stands  in  an  irregular  open  place,  closely  hemmed 
in  by  houses  on  two  sides,  so  that  it  can  be  seen  to  advan¬ 
tage  from  only  one  point.  It  is  a  mixture  of  the  Gothic  and 
Romanesque  styles ;  the  body  of  the  structure  is  entirely 
covered  with  statues  and  richly  wrought  sculpture,  with 
needle-like  spires  of  white  marble  rising  up  from  every 
corner.  But  of  the  exquisite,  airy  look  of  the  whole  mass, 
although  so  solid  and  vast,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  an 
idea.  It  resembles  some  fabric  of  frost-work  which  winter 
traces  on  the  window  panes. 

Ascending  the  marble  steps  which  lead  to  the  front,  I 
lifted  the  folds  of  the  heavy  curtain  and  entered.  What  a 
glorious  aisle  !  The  mighty  pillars  support  a  magnificent 
arched  ceiling,  painted  to  resemble  fretwork,  and  the  little 
light  that  falls  through  the  small  windows  above,  enters 
tinged  with  a  dim  golden  hue.  A  feeling  of  solemn  awe 
comes  over  one  as  he  steps  with  a  hushed  tread  along  the 
colored  marble  floor,  and  measures  the  massive  columns 
until  they  blend  with  the  gorgeous  arches  above.  There 
are  four  rows  of  these,  nearly  fifty  in  all,  and  when  I  state 
that  they  are  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  sixty  or  seventy  in 
height,  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
building.  The  Duomo  is  not  yet  entirely  finished,  the 
workmen  being  still  employed  in  various  parts,  but  it  is  said 
that,  when  completed,  there  will  be  four  thousand  statues 
on  different  parts  of  it. 


ART  BASED  ON*  NATURE. 


329 


The  design  of  the  Duorao  is  said  to  he  taken  from  Monte 
Rosa,  one  of  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  Alps.  Its  hundreds 
of  sculptured  pinnacles,  rising  from  every  part  of  the  body 
of  the  church,  certainly  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  the 
splintered  ice-crags  of  Savoy.  Thus  we  see  how  Art, 
mighty  and  endless  in  her  forms  though  she  be,  is  in  every¬ 
thing  but  the  child  of  Nature.  Her  divinest  conceptions  are 
but  copies  of  objects  which  we  behold  every  day.  The 
faultless  beauty  of  the  Corinthian  capital — the  springing 
and  intermingling  arches  of  the  Gothic  aisle — the  pillared 
portico  or  the  massive  and  sky-piercing  pyramid — are  but 
attempts  at  reproducing,  by  the  studied  regularity  of  Art, 
the  ever-varied  and  ever-beautiful  forms  of  mountain,  rock 
and  forest.  But  there  is  oftentimes  a  more  thrilling  sensa¬ 
tion  of  enjoyment  produced  by  the  creation  of  man’s  hand 
and  intellect  than  the  grander  effects  of  Nature,  existing 
constantly  before  our  eyes.  It  would  seem  as  if  man  mar¬ 
velled  more  at  his  own  work  than  at  the  work  of  the  Power 
which  created  him. 

The  streets  of  Milan  abound  with  priests  in  their  cocked 
hats  and  long  black  robes.  No  sight  lately  has  saddened 
me  so  much  as  to  see  a  bright,  beautiful  boy,  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  years,  in  those  gloomy  garments.  Poor  child  !  he 
little  knows  now  what  he  may  have  to  endure.  A  lonely, 
cheerless  life,  where  every  affection  must  be  crushed  as  un¬ 
holy,  and  every  pleasure  denied  as  a  crime  !  And  I  knew 
by  his  fair  brow  and  tender  lip,  that  he  had  a  warm  and 
loving  heart.  It  is  mournful  to  see  a  people  oppressed  in 
the  name  of  religion.  Immense  treasures,  wrung  drop  by 
drop  from  the  credulity  of  the  poor  and  ignorant,  are  made 


330 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


use  of  to  pamper  the  luxury  of  those  who  profess  to  be 
mediators  between  man  and  the  Deity.  The  poor  wretch 
may  perish  of  starvation  on  a  floor  of  precious  mosaic  which 
perhaps  his  own  pittance  has  helped  to  form,  while  ceilings 
and  shrines  of  inlaid  gold  mock  his  dying  eye  with  their 
useless  splendor.  Such  a  system  of  oppression,  disguised 
under  the  holiest  name,  can  only  be  sustained  by  the  con¬ 
tinuance  of  ignorance  and  blind  superstition.  Knowledge — 
Truth — Reason — these  are  the  ramparts  which  Liberty 
throws  up  to  guard  her  dominions  from  usurpation. 

Next  to  the  Duomo,  the  most  beautiful  specimen  of  archi¬ 
tecture  in  Milan  is  the  Arch  of  Peace  on  the  northern  side 
of  the  city,  at'the  termination  of  the  Simplon  Road.  It  was 
the  intention  of  Napoleon  to  carry  the  road  under  this 

arch,  across  the  Piazza  d’  Armi,  and  to  cut  a  way  for  it  direct- 

« 

ly  into  the  heart  of  the  city,  but  the  fall  of  his  dynasty  pre¬ 
vented  the  execution  of  this  magnificent  design,  as  well  as 
the  completion  of  the  arch  itself.  This  has  been  done  by 
the  Austrian  government,  according  to  the  original  plan  ; 
but  they  have  inscribed  upon  it  the  name  of  Francis  I.,  and 
changed  the  bas-reliefs  of  Lodi  and  Marengo  into  those  of 
fields  where  their  forces  had  gained  the  victory.  It  is  even 
said  that  in  many  parts  which  were  already  finished,  they 
altered  the  splendid  Roman  profile  of  Napoleon  into  the  hag¬ 
gard  features  of  Francis  of  Austria. 

The  bronze  statues  on  the  top  were  made  by  an  artist  of 
Bologna,  by  Napoleon’s  order,  and  are  said  to  be  among  the 
finest  works  of  modern  times.  In  the  centre  is  the  goddess 
of  Peace,  in  a  triumphal  car,  drawn  by  six  horses,  while  on 
the  corners  four  angels,  mounted,  are  setting  out  to  convey 


FINANCIAL  DISTRESS. 


331 


the  tidings  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  The  artist  has 
caught  the  spirit  of  motion  and  chained  it  in  these  moveless 
figures.  One  would  hardly  feel  surprised  if  the  goddess, 
chariot,  horses  and  all,  were  to  start  and  roll  away  through 
the  air. 

We  saw  the  opera  of  William  Tell  at  La  Scala,  visited 
the  famous  Picture  Gallery  in  the  Palazzo  Cabrera,  and  after 
a  stay  of  two  days,  were  ready  to  continue  our  journey,  but 
for  one  very  disagreeable  circumstance.  Nearly  all  our 
funds  were  contained  in  a  draft  on  a  Saxon  merchant  in 
Leghorn,  which  was  useless  in  Milan ;  we  had  failed  to  re¬ 
ceive  at  Heidelberg  a  sum  which  our  host  in  Frankfort 
promised  to  send  us,  and  there  was  barely  enough  in  our 
pockets  to  pay  our  bill  at  the  Pension  Suisse.  Our  German 
companion  had  gone  off  to  Como,  on  his  way  homeward, 
and  we  knew  no  one  in  the  city.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
We  racked  our  brains  to  find  some  expedient,  but  without 
success,  when,  on  coming  out  of  the  Duomo  one  afternoon, 
we  encountered  Mittermaier,  the  distinguished  Law  Profes¬ 
sor  in  the  University  of  Heidelberg,  with  whom  my  cousin 
was  slightly  acquainted.  It  was  a  bold  undertaking  to  ask 

f 

assistance  of  such  a  man,  but  F -  resolved  to  do  it,  and 

accordingly  visited  him  in  the  evening  at  his  hotel.  Herr 
Mittermaier  was  no  doubt  accustomed  to  applications  of  the 
kind,  and  very  likely  his  confidence  had  often  been  abused, 
for  he  showed  great  reluctance,  but  finally  consented,  with  a 
bad  grace,  to  advance  two  napoleons,  to  be  repaid  in  Heidel¬ 
berg,  at  the  commencement  of  the  next  University  term. 

We  shared  thoroughly  in  F - ’s  mortification  and  wounded 

pride  when  he  returned  to  us,  and  resolved  to  undergo  any- 


332 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


thing  but  starvation  before  asking  a  similar  favor  of  any  one 
again.  We  paid  our  bill  the  same  night,  and  in  order  to 
make  our  slender  store  last  as  long  as  possible,  arose  at  dawn 
and  set  out  on  foot  for  Genoa. 

Once  fairly  outside  of  the  city  we  took  the  road  to  Pavia, 
along  the  banks  of  the  canal,  just  as  the  rising  sun  gilded 
the  marble  spire  of  the  Duomo.  The  country  was  a  perfect 
level,  and  the  canal,  which  was  in  many  places  higher  than 
the  land  through  which  it  passed,  served  also  as  a  means  of 
irrigation  for  the  many  ricedields.  The  sky  grew  cloudy 
and  dark,  and  before  we  reached  Pavia  gathered  to  a  heavy 
storm.  Torrents  of  rain  poured  down,  accompanied  with 
heavy  thunder ;  we  crept  under  an  old  gateway  for  shelter, 
as  no  house  was  near.  Finally,  as  the  clouds  cleared  away, 
the  square  brown  towers  of  the  old  city  rose  above  the  trees, 
and  we  entered  the  gate  through  a  fine  shaded  avenue.  Our 
passports  w^ere  of  course  demanded,  but  we  were  only  de¬ 
tained  a  minute  or  two.  The  only  thing  of  interest  is  the 
University,  formerly  so  celebrated ;  it  has  at  present  about 
eight  hundred  students. 

We  have  reason  to  remember  the  city  from  another  circum¬ 
stance — the  singular  attention  we  excited.  I  doubt  if 
Columbus  was  an  object  of  greater  curiosity  to  the  simple 
natives  of  the  new  world,  than  we  three  Americans  were  to 
the  good  people  of  Pavia.  I  know  not  what  part  of  our 
dress  or  appearance  could  have  caused  it,  but  we  were 
watched  like  wild  animals.  If  we  happened  to  pause  and 
look  at  anything  in  the  street,  there  was  soon  a  crowd  of 
attentive  observers,  and  as  we  passed  on,  every  door  and 
window  was  full  of  heads.  We  stopped  in  the  market-place 


CROSSING  THE  PO. 


333 


to  purchase  some  bread  and  fruit  for  dinner,  which  increased, 
if  possible,  the  sensation.  We  saw  eyes  staring  and  fingers 
pointing  at  us  from  every  door  and  alley.  I  am  generally 
willing  to  contribute  as  much  as  possible  to  the  amusement 

9 

or  entertainment  of  others,  but  such  attention  was  absolutely 
embarrassing.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  appear 
unconscious  of  it,  and  we  went  along  with  as  much.noncha- 
lance  as  if  the  whole  town  belonged  to  us; 

We  crossed  the  Ticino,  on  whose  banks  near  Pavia,  was 
fought  the  first  great  battle  between  Hannibal  and  the 
Romans.  On  the  other  side  our  passports  were  demanded 
at  the  Sardinian  frontier  and  our  knapsacks  searched,  which 
having  proved  satisfactory,  we  were  allowed  to  enter  the 
kingdom.  Late  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  the  Po,  which 
in  winter  must  be  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  but  the  summer 
heats  had  dried  it  up  to  a  small  stream,  so  that  the  bridge  of 
boats  rested  nearly  its  whole  length  in  sand.  We  sat  on  the 
bank  in  the  shade,  and  looked  at  the  chain  of  hills  which 
rose  in  the  south,  following  the  course  of  the  Po,  crowned 
with  castles  and  villages  and  shining  towers.  It  was  here 
that  I  first  began  to  realize  Italian  scenery.  Although  the 
hills  were  bare,  they  lay  so  warm  and  glowing  in  the  sun¬ 
shine,  and  the  deep  blue  sky  spread  so  calmly  above,  that  it 
recalled  all  my  dreams  of  the  fair  land  we  had  entered. 

We  stopped  for  the  night  at  the  little  village  of  Casteggio, 
which  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  next  morning  resumed 
our  pilgrimage.  Here  a  new  delight  awaited  us.  The  sky 
was  of  a  heavenly  blue,  without  even  the  shadow  of  a  cloud, 
and  full  and  fair  in  the  morning  sunshine  we  could  see  the 
whole  range  of  the  Alps,  from  the  blue  hills  of  Friuli,  which 


334 


VIEWS  A-FOOT.  , 


sweep  down  to  Venice  and  the  Adriatic,  to  the  lofty  peaks 
which  stretch  away  to  Nice  and  Marseilles  !  Like  a  summer 
cloud,  except  that  they  were  far  more  dazzling  and  glorious, 
lay  to  the  north  of  us  the  glaciers  and  untrodden  snow-fields 
of  the  Bernese  Oberland ;  a  little  to  the  right  we  saw  the 
double  peak  of  St.  Gothard,  where  six  days  before  we  shi¬ 
vered  in  the  region  of  eternal  winter,  while  far  to  the  north¬ 
west  rose  the  giant  dome  of  Mont  Blanc.  Monte  Rosa  stood 
near  him,  not  far  from  the  Great  St.  Bernard,  and  further  to 
the  south  Mont  Cenis  guarded  the  entrance  from  Piedmont 
into  France.  I  leave  the  reader  to  conceive  the  majesty  of 
such  a  scene,  and  he  may  perhaps  imagine,  for  I  cannot  de¬ 
scribe,  the  feelings  with  which  I  gazed  upon  it. 

At  Tortona,  the  next  post,  a  great  market  was  being  held  ; 
the  town  was  filled  with  country  people  selling  their  produce, 
and  with  venders  of  wares  of  all  kinds.  Fruit  was  very 
plentiful — grapes,  ripe  figs,  peaches  and  melons  were  abun¬ 
dant,  and  for  a  trifle  one  could  purchase  a  sumptuous  ban¬ 
quet.  On  inquiring  the  road  to  Novi,  the  people  made  us 
understand,  after  much  difficulty,  that  there  was  a  nearer 
way  across  the  country,  which  came  into  the  post-road  again, 
and  we  agreed  to  take  it.  After  two  or  three  hours’  walk¬ 
ing  in  a  burning  sun,  where  our  only  relief  was  the  sight  of 
the  Alps  and  a  view  of  the  battle-field  of  Marengo,  which  lay 
just  on  our  right,  we  came  to  a  stand — the  road  terminated 

at  a  large  stream,  where  workmen  were  busily  engaged  in 

* 

making  a  bridge  across.  We  pulled  off  our  boots  and 
waded  through,  took  a  refreshing  bath  in  the  clear  waters, 
and  walked  on  through  by-lanes.  The  sides  were  lined 
with  luxuriant  vines,  bending  under  the  ripening  vintage, 


SUNSET  VIEW  OF  THE  ALPS. 


335 


and  we  often  cooled  our  thirst  with  some  of  the  rich 
bunches. 

The  large  branch  of  the  Po  we  crossed,  came  down  from 
the  mountains,  which  we  were  approaching.  As  we  reached 
the  post-road  again,  they  were  glowing  in  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun,  and  the  evening  vapors  that  settled  over  the  plain  con¬ 
cealed  the  distant  Alps,  although  the  snowy  top  of  the  Jung¬ 
frau  and  her  companions  the  Wetterhorn  and  Schrecldiorn, 
rose  above  it  like  the  hills  of  another  world.  A  castle  or 
church  of  brilliant  white  marble  glittered  on  the  summit  of 
one  of  the  mountains  near  us,  and  as  the  sun  went  down 
without  a  cloud,  the  distant  peaks  changed  in  hue  to  a  glowing 
purple,  amounting  almost  to  crimson,  which  afterwards  dark¬ 
ened  into  a  deep  violet.  The  western  half  of  the  sky  was 
of  a  pale  orange,  and  the  eastern  a  dark  rose-color,  which 
blended  together  in  the  blue  of  the  zenith,  that  deepened  as 
twilight  came  on. 

We  stopped  the  second  night  at  Arquato,  a  little  village 
among  the  mountains,  and  after  having  bargained  with  the 
merry  landlord  for  our  lodgings,  in  broken  Italian,  took  a  last 
look  at  the  plains  of  Piedmont  and  the  Swiss  Alps,  in  the 
growing  twilight.  On  ordering  our  supper,  the  landlord 
asked  whether  we  would  have  a  pinta  of  wine.  In  our  igno¬ 
rance  of  Italian  we  supposed  that  a  pinta  of  course  meant 
a  pint,  and  on  learning  that  it  cost  about  seven  cents,  sup¬ 
posed  that  the  wine  must  be  very  good.  But  the  pinta 
proved  to  be  three  quarts  at  least,  and  we  drank  the  whole 
of  it  (having  paid  for  it)  without  exhilaration.  We  gazed 
out  on  the  darkening  scene  until  the  sky  was  studded  with 
stars,  and  went  to  rest  with  the  exciting  thought  of  seeing 


336 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Genoa  and  the  Mediterranean  on  the  morrow.  Next  morn¬ 
ing  we  started  early,  and  after  walking  some  distance  made 
our  breakfast  in  a  grove  of  chestnuts,  on  the  cool  mountain 
side,  beside  a  fresh  stream  of  water.  The  sky  shone  like  a 
polished  gem,  and  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  chestnuts  gleamed 
in  the  morning  sun.  Here  and  there,  on  a  rocky  height, 
stood  the  remains  of  some  knightly  castle,  telling  of  the  Goths 
and  Normans  who  descended  through  these  mountain  passes 
to  plunder  Rome. 

As  the  sun  grew  high,  the  heat  and  dust  became  intolera¬ 
ble,  and  this,  in  connection  with  the  attention  we  raised 
everywhere,  made  us  somewhat  tired  of  foot-travelling  in 
Italy.  I  verily  believe  the  people  took  us  for  pilgrims  on 
account  of  our  long  white  blouses,  and  had  I  a  scallop  shell 
I  would  certainly  have  stuck  it  into  my  hat  to  complete  the 
appearance.  We  stopped  once  to  ask  a  priest  about  the 
road,  and  when  he  had  told  us,  he  shook  hands  with  us  and 
gave  us  a  parting  benediction.  At  the  common  inns,  where 
we  stopped,  we  always  met  with  civil  treatment,  though,  in¬ 
deed,  as  we  only  slept  in  them,  there  was  little  chance  of 
practising  imposition.  We  bought  our  simple  meals  at  the 
baker’s  and  grocer’s,  and  ate  them  in  the  shade  of  the  grape 
bowers,  whose  rich  clusters  added  to  the  repast.  In  this 
manner,  we  enjoyed  Italy  at  the  expense  of  a  franc 
daily. 

About  noon,  after  winding  about  through  the  narrow  de¬ 
files,  the  road  began  ascending.  The  reflected  heat  from 
the  hills  on  each  side  made  it  like  an  oven ;  there  was  not 
a  breath  of  air  stirring  ;  but  we  all  felt,  although  no  one  sail 
it,  that  from  the  summit  we  should  see  the  Mediterranean, 


FIRST  VIEW  OF  THE  MEDITERRANEAN. 


337 


and  we  pushed  on  as  if  life  or  death  depended  on  it. 
Finally,  the  highest  point  came  in  sight — we  redoubled  our 
exertions,  and  a  few  minutes  more  brought  us  to  the  top, 
breathless  with  fatigue  and  expectation.  I  glanced  down 
the  other  side,  and  a  confusion  of  barren  mountains  lay  be¬ 
fore  me  ;  the  farthest  peaks  rose  up  afar  and  dim,  crowned 
with  white  towers,  and  between  two  of  them  which  stood  apart, 
like  the  pillars  of  a  gateway,  we  saw  the  broad  expanse  of 
blue  water  stretching  away  to  the  horizon  ! 

It  would  have  been  a  thrilling  delight  to  see  any  ocean, 
when  one  has  rambled  thousands  of  miles  among  the  moun¬ 
tains  and  vales  of  the  inland,  but  to  behold  this  sea,  of  all 
others,  was  glorious  indeed  !  This  sea,  whose  waves  wash 
the  feet  of  Naples,  Constantinople  and  Alexandria,  and 
break  on  the  hoary  shores  where  Troy  and  Tyre  and  Car¬ 
thage  have  mouldered  away — whose  breast  has  been  fur¬ 
rowed  by  the  keels  of  a  hundred  nations  through  more  than 
forty  centuries,  from  the  first  rude  voyage  of  Jason  and  his 
Argonauts  to  the  thunders  of  Navarino  that  heralded  the 

second  birth  of  Greece  !  You  cannot  wonder  that  we  grew 

*  » 

romantic ;  but  short  space  was  left  for  sentiment  in  the 
burning  sun,  with  Genoa  to  be  reached  before  night.  The 
mountain  we  crossed  is  called  the  Bochetta,  one  of  the 
loftiest  of  the  sea- Alps  (or  Appenines).  The  road  winds 
steeply  down  towards  the  sea,  following  a  broad  mountain 
rivulet,  now  dried  up,  as  is  nearly  every  stream  among  the 
mountains.  It  was  a  long  way  to  us  ;  the  mountains  seem¬ 
ed  as  if  they  would  never  unfold  and  let  us  out  on  the 
shore,  and  our  weary  limbs  did  penance  enough  for  a  multi¬ 
tude  of  sins.  The  dusk  was  beginning  to  deepen  over  the 

15 


338 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


bay,  and  the  purple  hues  of  sunset  were  dying  away  from 
its  amphitheatre  of  hills,  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  gorge¬ 
ous  city.  Half  the  population  were  out  to  celebrate  a  fes¬ 
tival,  and  we  made  our  entry  in  the  triumphal  procession  of 
some  saint. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


SCENES  IN  GENOA,  LEGHORN,  AND  PISA. 

Genoa  at  Sunset — Appearance  of  the  City— A  Religious  Procession— Another 

Financial  Difficulty — Embarking  for  Leghorn — A  Night  at  Sea —  Morning  in  Tus- 
# 

cany — Landing — A  Polyglott  Population — The  Ardenza — Criminals  at  Work — My 
Comrades  Relieved — Approach  to  Pisa — The  City — The  Leaning  Tower— The 
Echo  in  the  Baptistery — The  Campo  Santo— A  Yetturino  for  Florence— An 
Italian  Companion — Night-Journey  in  the  Rain — Florence  at  Last. 

Has  the  reader  ever  seen  some  grand  painting  of  a  city, 
rising  with  its  domes  and  towers  and  palaces  from  the  edge 
of  a  glorious  bay,  shut  in  by  mountains — the  whole  scene 
clad  in  those  deep,  delicious,  sunny  hues,  which  we  admire 
so  much  in  the  picture,  although  they  appear  unrealized  in 
Nature?  If  so,  he  can  figure  to  himself  Genoa,  as  she 
appeared  to  us  at  sunset,  from  the  battlements  west  of  the 
city.  When  we  had  passed  through  the  gloomy  gate  of  the 
fortress  that  guards  the  western  promontory,  the  whole 
scene  opened  on  us  at  once ‘in  all  its  majesty.  The  battle¬ 
ments  where  we  were  standing,  and  the  blue  mirror  of  the 
Mediterranean  just  below,  with  a  few  vessels  moored  near  the 
shore,  made  up  the  foreground  ;  just  in  front  lay  the  queenly 


340 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


city,  stretching  out  to  the  eastern  point  of  the  hay,  like  a 
great  meteor — this  point,  crowned  with  the  towers  and 
dome  of  a  cathedral,  representing  the  nucleus,  while  the  tail 
gradually  widened  out  and  was  lost  among  the  numberless 
villas  that  reached  to  the  top  of  the  mountains  behind.  As 
we  gazed,  a  purple  glow  lay  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  while 
far  beyond  the  city,  the  eastern  half  of  the  mountain  cres¬ 
cent  around  the  gulf  was  tinted  with  the  loveliest  hue  of 
orange.  The  impressions  which  one  derives  from  looking 
on  remarkable  scenery  depend,  for  much  of  their  effect,  on 
the  time  and  weather.  I  have  been  very  fortunate  in  this 
respect  in  two  instances,  and  shall  carry  with  me  through 
life,  two  glorious  pictures  of  a  very  different  character — the 
wild  sublimity  of  the  Brocken  in  cloud  and  storm,  and  the 
splendor  of  Genoa  in  an  Italian  sunset. 

Genoa  has  been  called  the  “  city  of  palaces,”  and  it  well 
deserves  the  appellation.  Row  above  row  of  magnificent 
structures  rise  amid  gardens  along  the  side  of  the  hills,  and 
many  of  the  streets,  though  narrow  and  crooked,  are  lined 
entirely  with  the  splendid  dwellings  of  the  Genoese  nobles. 
All  these  speak  of  the  republic  in  its  days  of  wealth  and 
power,  when  it  could  cope  successfully  with  Venice,  and 
Doria  could  threaten  to  bridle  the  horses  of  St.  Mark.  At 
present  its  condition  is  far  different ;  although  not  so  fallen 
as  its  rival,  it  is  but  a  shadow  of  its  former  self. 

We  entered  Genoa,  as  I  have  already  said,  in  a  religious 
procession.  On  passing  the  gate  we  saw  from  the  concourse 

t 

of  people  and  the  many  banners  hanging  from  the  windows 
or  floating  across  the  streets,  that  it  was  the  day  of  a  festa. 
Before  entering  the  city  we  reached  the  procession  itself, 


A  RELIGIOUS  PROCESSION. 

i 


341 


which  was  one  of  unusual  solemnity.  As  it  was  impossible 
in  the  dense  crowd  to  pass  it,  we  struggled  through  until  we 
reached  a  good  point  for  seeing  the  whole,  and  slowly  moved 
on  with  it  through  the  city.  First  went  a  company  of  boys 
in  white  robes ;  then  followed  a  body  of  friars,  dressed  in 
long  black  cassocks,  and  with  shaven  crowns ;  then  a  com¬ 
pany  of  soldiers  with  a  band  of  music  ;  then  a  body  of  nuns, 
wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  blue  robes,  and  chanting  in  a 
low  voice ;  then  followed  another  company  of  friars,  and 
after  them  a  great  number  of  priests  in  white  and  black 
robes,  bearing  the  statue  of  the  saint,  with  a  pyramid  of 
flowers,  crosses,  and  blazing  wax  tapers,  while  companies  of 
soldiery,  monks,  and  music,  brought  up  the  rear.  The 
whole  scene,  dimly  lighted  by  the  wax  tapers,  produced  in 
me  a  feeling  nearly  akin  to  fear,  as  if  I  were  witnessing 
some  ghostly,  unearthly  spectacle.  To  rites  like  these, 
however,  which  occur  every  few  weeks,  the  people  must  be 
well  accustomed. 

Although  we  had  spent  but  three  francs  apiece  since 
leaving  Milan,  and  hoped  to  save  enough  to  enable  one  of 
us  to  go  on  to  Leghorn  and  have  our  draft  cashed,  we  found 
that  the  signing  of  a  passport  would  cost  twenty  francs  (ten 
of  which  went  to  the  American  Consulate),  and  a  second- 
cabin  passage  to  Leghorn  as  much  more.  We  again  fell 
short,  and  in  this  emergency  applied  to  Mr.  Moro,  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Vice-Consul.  After  submitting  the  draft  to  his  secretary, 
who  was  a  German  and  pronounced  it  genuine,  and  who 
made  many  unsuccessful  inquiries  among  the  merchants  to 
ascertain  whether  the  house  on  which  it  was  drawn  had  any 
correspondents  in  Genoa,  Mr.  Moro  finally  agreed  to  advance 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


o  '  o 


me  money  for  my  passage,  with  the  understanding  that  I 
should  immediately  forward  enough  to  repay  him,  and  to 
relieve  my  two  friends,  who  were  to  remain  behind  as 
hostages.  Our  second  embarrassment  was  thus  overcome, 
and  we  now  felt  confident  of  .getting  to  Florence  before 
any  further  difficulties  occurred.  There  was  a  boat  to 
leave  the  same  evening  for  Leghorn,  and  I  at  once  took 
passage. 

The  Virgilio  was  advertised  to  leave  at  six  o’clock,  and  I 
accordingly  went  out  to  her  in  a  little  boat  half  an  hour 
beforehand  ;  but  we  were  delayed  much  longer,  and  I  saw 
sunset  again  fade  over  the  glorious  amphitheatre  of  palaces 
and  mountains,  with  the  same  orange  glow — the  same  purple 
and  crimson  flush,  deepening  into  twilight — as  before.  An 
old  blind  man  in  a  skiff,  floated  around  under  the  bows  of  the 
boat  on  the  glassy  water,  singing  to  the  violin  a  plaintive  air 
that  appeared  to  be  an  evening  hymn  to  the  Virgin.  There 
was  something  very  touching  in  his  venerable  countenance, 
with  the  sightless  eyes  turned  upward  to  the  sunset  heaven 
whose  glory  he  could  never  more  behold. 

The  lamps  were  lit  on  the  tower  at  the  end  of  the  mole  as 
we  glided  out  on  the  open  sea ;  I  stood  on  deck  and  watched 
the  receding  lights  of  the  city,  until  they  and  the  mountains 
above  them  were  blended  with  the  darkened  sky.  The  sea- 
breeze  was  fresh  and  cool,  and  the  stars  glittered  with  a 
frosty  clearness,  which  would  have  made  the  night  delicious, 
had  not  a  slight  rolling  of  the  waves  obliged  me  to  go  below. 
Here,  besides  being  half  sea-sick,  I  was  placed  at  the  mercy 
of  many  voracious  fleas.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  suf¬ 
fered  from  these  cannibals,  and  such  were  my  torments,  that 


MORNING  IN  TUSCANY. 


343 


I  almost  wished  some  bloodthirsty  Italian  would  come  and 
put  an  end  to  them  with  his  stiletto. 

The  first  ray  of  dawn  that  stole  into  the  cabin  sent  me  on 
deck.  The  hills  of  Tusdany  lay  in  front,  sharply  outlined 
on  the  reddening  sky  ;  near  us  was  the  steep  and  rocky  isle 
of  Gorgona  ;  and  far  to  the  south-west,  like  a  low  mist  along 
the  water,  ran  the  shores  of  Corsica — the  birth-place  of 
Columbus  and  Napoleon  !  As  the  dawn  brightened  we  saw 
on  the  southern  horizon  a  cloud-like  island,  also  imperishably 
connected  with  the  name  of  the  latter — the  prison-kingdom 
of  Elba.  North  of  us  extended  the  rugged  mountains  of 
Carrara — that  renowned  range  whence  has  sprung  many  a 
form  of  almost  breathing  beauty,  and  where  yet  slumber, 
perhaps,  in  the  unhewn  marble,  the  god-like  shapes  of  an 
age  of  Art,  more  glorious  than  any  the  world  has  ever  yet 
beheld ! 

The  sun  rose  from  behind  the  Appenines,  and  masts  and 
towers  became  visible  through  the  golden  haze,  as  we  , 
approached  the  shore.  On  a  flat  space  between  the  sea  and 
the  hills,  not  far  from  the  foot  of  Montenero,  stands  Leg¬ 
horn.  The  harbor  is  protected  by  a  mole,  leaving  a  narrow 
passage,  through  which  we  entered,  and  after  waiting  two 

hours  for  the  visit  of  the  health  and  police  officers,  we  were 

* 

permitted  to  go  on  shore.  The  first  thing  that  struck  me, 
was  the  fine  broad  streets  ;  the  second,  the  motley  character 
of  the  population.  People  were  hurrying  about,  noisy  and 
bustling — Greeks  in  their  red  caps  and  capotes  ;  grave 
turbaned  and  bearded  Turks ;  dark  Moors ;  the  corsair¬ 
looking  natives  of  Tripoli  and  Tunis,  and  seamen  of  nearly 
every  nation.  At  the  hotel  where  I  stayed,  we  had  a  singu* 


344 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


lar  mixture  of  nations  at  dinner  : — two  French,  two  Swiss, 
one  Genoese,  one  Roman,  one  American  and  one  Turk— 
and  we  were  waited  on  by  a  Tuscan  and  a  Moor ! 

The  only  place  of  amusement  here  in  summer  is  a  drive 
along  the  sea  shore,  called  the  Ardenza,  which  is  frequented 
every  evening  by  all  who  can  raise  a  vehicle.  I  visited  it 
twice  with  a  German  friend.  The  road  leads  out  along  the 
Mediterranean,  past  an  old  fortress,  to  a  large  establishment 
for  sea  bathers,  where  it  ends  in  a  large  ring,  around  which 
the  carriages  pass  and  re-pass,  until  sunset  has  gone  out  over 
the  sea,  when  they  return  to  the  city  in  a  mad  gallop,  or  as 
fast  as  the  lean  horses  can  draw  them.  In  driving  around, 
we  met  two  or  three  carriages  of  Turks,  in  one  of  which  I 
saw  a  woman  of  Tunis,  with  a  curious  gilded  head-dress, 
eighteen  inches  in  height. 

I  frequently  witnessed  a  spectacle  which  was  exceedingly 
revolting  to  me.  The  condemned  criminals,  chained  two  and 
two,  are  kept  at  work  through  the  city,  cleaning  the  streets. 
They  are  dressed  in  coarse  garments  of  a  dirty  red  color, 
with  the  name  of  the  crime  for  which  they  were  convicted, 
painted  on  the  back.  I  shuddered  to  see  so  many  marked 
with  the  words — “  omicidio  premeditate* .”  All  day  they  are 
thus  engaged,  exposed  to  the  scorn  and  contumely  of  the 
crowd,  and  at  night  dragged  away  to  be  incarcerated  in 
damp,  unwholesome  dungeons,  excavated  under  the  public 
thoroughfares. 

I  presented  my  draft,  drew  a  sufficient  amount  of  money 
for  my  needs,  and  forwarded  the  requisite  sum  to  Genoa.  I 
noticed  that  Mr.  Moro’s  correspondent  insisted  on  sending 
the  money  to  him,  instead  of  to  my  friends — probably  to 


APPROACH  TO  PISA. 


845 

make  sure  of  the  payment  of  the  loan.  On  going  down  to 
the  wharf  two  days  afterwards,  I  found  F — r —  and  B— — 
just  stepping  on  shore  from  the  steamboat,  tired  enough  of 
the  discomforts  of  the  voyage,  yet  anxious  to  set  out  for  Flo¬ 
rence  as  soon  as  possible.  After  we  had  shaken  off  the  crowd 
of  porters,  pedlars  and  vetturini,  and  taken  a  hasty  breakfast 
at  the  Cafe  Americano ,  we  went  to  the  Police  Office  to  get 
our  passports,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  paying  two  francs 
for  permission  to  proceed  to  Florence.  The  weather  had 
changed  since  the  preceding  day,  and  the  sirocco-wind 
which  blows  over  from  the  coast  of  Africa,  filled  the  streets 
with  clouds  of  dust,  which  made  walking  very  unpleasant. 
The  clear  blue  sky  had  vanished,  and  a  leaden  cloud  hung 
low  on  the  Mediterranean,  hiding  the  shores  of  Corsica  and 
the  rocky  isles  of  Gorgona  and  Capraja. 

The  country  between  Leghorn  and  Pisa  is  a  flat  marsh, 
intersected  in  several  places  by  canals  to  carry  off  the  stag¬ 
nant  water  which  renders  this  district  so  unhealthy.  The 
entire  plain  between  the  mountains  of  Carrara  and  the  hills 
back  of  Leghorn  has  been  gradually  formed  by  the  deposits 
of  the  Arno  and  the  receding  of  the  Mediterranean,  which 
is  so  shallow  along  the  whole  coast,  that  large  vessels  have  to 
anchor  several  miles  out.  As  we  approached  Pisa  over  the 
level  marsh,  I  could  see  the  dome  of  the  Cathedral  and  the 
Leaning  Tower  rising  above  the  gardens  and  groves  which 
surround  the  city. 

Our  baggage  underwent  another  examination  at  the  gate, 
where  we  were  again  assailed  by  the  vetturini,  one  of  whom 
hung  on  us  like  a  leech  until  we  reached  a  hotel,  and  there 

was  finally  no  way  of  shaking  him  off  except  by  engaging 

If)* 


346 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


him  tp  take  ns  to  Florence.  The  bargain  having  been  con¬ 
cluded,  we  had  still  a  few  hours  left,  and  set  off  to  hunt  the 

/ 

Cathedral.  We  found  it  on  an  open  square  near  the  outer 
wall,  and  quite  remote  from  the  main  part  of  the  town. 
Emerging  from  the  narrow  and  winding  street,  one  takes  in 
at  a  glance  the  Baptistery,  the  Campo  Santo,  the  noble  Cathe¬ 
dral  and  the  Leaning  Tower — forming  altogether  a  view 
rarely  surpassed  in  Europe  for  architectural  effect.  But  the 
square  is  melancholy  and  deserted,  and  rank,  untrampled 
grass  fills  the  crevices  of  its  marble  pavement. 

I  was'  surprised  at  the  beauty  of  the  Leaning  Tower. 
Instead  of  an  old,  black,  crumbling  fabric,  as  I  always  supposed, 
it  is  a  light,  airy,  elegant  structure,  of  white  marble,  and  its 
declension,  which  is  interesting  as  a  work  of  art  (or  accident), 
is  at  the  same  time  pleasing  from  its  novelty.  There  have 
been  many  conjectures  as  to  the  cause  of  this  deviation, 
which  is  upwards  of  fourteen  feet  from  the  perpendicular  ; 
but  it  is  now  generally  believed  that  the  earth  having  sunk 
when  the  building  was  half  finished,  it  was  continued  by 
the  architects  at  the  same  angle.  The  upper  gallery,  which 
is  smaller  than  the  others,  shows  a  very  perceptible  inclina¬ 
tion  back  towards  the  perpendicular,  as  if  in  some  degree 
to  counterbalance  their  deviation.  There  are  eight  galleries 
in  all,  supported  by  marble  pillars,  but  the  inside  of  the 
Tower  is  hollow  to  the  very  top. 

We  ascended  by  the  same  stairs  which  were  trodden  so 
often  by  Galileo  in  going  up  to  make  his  astronomical  ob¬ 
servations.  In  climbing  spirally  around  the  hollow  cylinder 
in  the  dark,  it  was  easy  to  tell  on  which  side  of  the  Tower 
we  were,  from  the  proportionate  steepness  of  the  staircase. 


THE  ECHO  IN  THE  BAPTISTERY. 


347 


There  is  a  fine  view  from  the  top,  embracing  the  whole 
plain  as  far  as  Leghorn  on  one  side,  with  its  gardens  and 
grain  fields  spread  out  like  a  vast  map.  In  a  valley  of  the 
Carrarese  Mountains  to  the  north,  we  could  see  the  little 
town  of  Lucca,  much  frequented  at  this  season  on  account 
of  its  baths  ;  the  blue  summits  of  the  Appenines  shut  in  the 
view  to  the  east.  In  walking  through  the  city  I  noticed 
two  other  towers,  which  had  nearly  as  great  a  deviation 
from  the  perpendicular.  We  met  a  person  who  had  the  key 
of  the  Baptistery,  which  he  opened  for  us.  Two  ancient 
columns  covered  with  rich  sculpture  form  the  doorway,  and 
the  dome  is  supported  by  massive  pillars  of  the  red  marble 
of  Elba.  The  baptismal  font  is  of  the  purest  Parian  mar¬ 
ble.  The  most  remarkable  thing  was  the  celebrated  musical 
echo.  Our  cicerone  stationed  himself  at  the  side  of  the  font 
and  sang  a  few  notes.  After  a  moment’s  pause  they  were 
repeated  aloft  in  the  dome,  but  with  a  sound  of  divine  sweet¬ 
ness — as  clear  and  pure  as  the  clang  of  a  crystal  bell. 
Another  pause — and  we  heard  them  again,  higher,  fainter 
and  sweeter,  followed  by  a  dying  note,  as  if  they  were  fad¬ 
ing  far  away  into  heaven.  It  seemed  as  if  an  angel  lingered 
in  the  temple,  echoing  with  his  melodious  lips  the  common 
harmonies  of  earth. 

The  Campo  Santo,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Cathedral, 
was,  until  lately,  the  cemetery  of  the  city ;  the  space  in¬ 
closed  within  its  marble  galleries  is  filled  to  the  depth  of 
eight  or  ten  feet,  with  earth  from  the  Holy  Land.  The  ves¬ 
sels  which  carried  the  knights  of  Tuscany  to  Palestine  were 
filled  at  J oppa  before  returning,  with  this  earth  as  ballast, 
and  on  arriving  at  Pisa  it  was  deposited  in  the  Cemetery* 


343 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


It  has  a  peculiar  property  of  decomposing  all  human  bodies 
in  a  very  short  time.  A  colonnade  of  marble  incloses  it, 
with  windows  of  exquisite  sculpture  opening  on  the  inside. 
At  each  end  are  two  fine,  green  cypresses,  which  thrive  re¬ 
markably  in  the  soil  of  Palestine.  The  dust  of  a  German 
emperor,  among  others,  rests  in  this  consecrated  ground. 
There  are  other  fine  churches  in  Pisa,  but  the  four  build¬ 
ings  I  have  mentioned,  are  the  principal  objects  of  inter¬ 
est.  The  tower  where  Count  Ugolino  and  his  sons  were 
starved  to  death  by  the  citizens  of  Pisa,  who  locked  them 
up  and  threw  the  keys  into  the  Arno,  has  lately  been 
destroyed. 

An  Italian  gentleman  having  made  a  bargain  in  the 
meantime  with  our  vetturino,  we  found  every  thing  ready 
on  returning  to  the  hotel.  On  the  outside  of  the  town  we 
mounted  into  the  vehicle,  a  rickety-looking  concern,  and  as 
it  commenced  raining,  I  was  afraid  we  would  have  a  bad 
night  of  it.  After  a  great  deal  of  bargaining,  the  vetturino 
agreed  to  take  us  to  Florence  that  night  for  five  francs 
apiece,  provided  one  person  would  sit  on  the  outside  with 
the  driver.  I  accordingly  mounted  in  front  protected  by  a 
blouse  and  umbrella,  for  it  was  beginning  to  rain  dismally. 
The  miserable,  bare-boned  horses  were  fastened  with  rope- 
traces,  and  the  vetturino  having  taken  the  rope-lines  in  his 
hand,  gave  %  flourish  with  his  whip  ;  one  old  horse  tumbled 
nearly  to  the  ground,  but  he  jerked  him  up  again  and  we 
rattled  off. 

After  riding  ten  miles  in  this  way,  it  became  so  wet  and 
dreary,  that  I  was  fain  to  give  the  driver  two  francs  extra 
for  the  privilege  of  an  inside  seat.  Our  Italian  companion 


NIGHT-JOURNEY  IN  1HE  RAIN. 


349 


was  agreeable  and  talkative,  but  as  we  were  still  ignorant 
of  the  language,  I  managed  to  hold  a  scanty  conversation 
with  him  in  French.  He  seemed  delighted  to  learn  that  we 
were  from  America ;  his  polite  reserve  gave  place  to  a 
friendly  familiarity,  and  he  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the 
Americans.  I  asked  him  why  it  was  that  he  and  the  Italians 
generally  were  so  friendly  towards  us.  “  I  hardly  know,” 
he  answered  ;  “  you  are  so  different  from  any  other  nation  ; 
and  then,  too,  you  have  so  much  sincerity.” 

The  Appenines  were  wreathed  and  hidden  in  thick  mist, 
and  the  prospect  over  the  flat  cornfields  bordering  the  road 
was  not  particularly  interesting.  We  had  made  about  one- 
third  of  the  way  as  night  set  in,  when  on  ascending  a  hill 

soon  after  dark,  F -  happened  to  look  out,  and  saw  one 

of  the  axles  bent  and  nearly  broken  off.  We  were  obliged 
to  get  out  and  walk  through  the  mud  to  the  next  village, 
when,  after  two  hours’  delay,  the  vetturino  came  along  with 
another  carriage.  Of  the  rest  of  the  way  to  Florence,  I 
cannot  say  much.  Cooped  up  in  the  narrow  vehicle,  we 
jolted  along  in  the  dark,  rumbling  now  and  then  through 
some  silent  village,  where  lamps  were  burning  before  the 
solitary  shrines.  Sometimes  a  blinding  light  crossed  the 
road,  where  we  saw  the  tile-makers  sitting  in  the  red  glare 
of  their  kilns,  and  often  the  black  boughs  of  trees  were 
painted  momentarily  on  the  cloudy  sky.  If  the  jolting 
carriage  had  even  permitted  sleep,  the  horrid  cries  of  the 
vetturino,  urging  on  his  horses,  would  have  prevented  it ; 
and  I  decided,  while  trying  to  relieve  my  aching  limbs,  that 
three  days’  walking  in  sun  and  sand  was  preferable  to  one 
night  of  such  travel. 


350 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Finally  about  four  o’clock  in  the  morning  the  carriage 
stopped  ;  my  Italian  friend  awoke  and  demanded  the  cause. 
“  Signor,”  said  the  vetturino,  “  we  are  in  Florence  /  ”  I 
blessed  the  man,  and  the  city  too.  The  good-humored 
officer  looked  at  our  passports  and  passed  cur  baggage  without 
examination  ;  we  gave  the  gatekeeper  a  paul  and  he  ad¬ 
mitted  us.  The  carriage  rolled  through  the  dark,  silent 
streets — passed  a  public  square — came  out  on  the  Arno — 
crossed  and  entered  the  city  again — and  finally  stopped  at  a 
hotel.  The  master  of  the  “Lione  Bianco  ”  came  down  in 
an  undress  to  receive  us,  and  we  shut  the  growing  dawn  out 
of  our  rooms  to  steal  that  repose  from  the  day  which  the 
night  had  not  given. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

RESIDENCE  IN  FLORENCE. 

Booms  in  Florence — Cost  of  Living — The  Royal  Gallery — The  Venus  de  Medici— 
Titian  and  Raphael — Michael  Angelo— The  Hall  of  Niobe — Value  of  Art  to  Italy— 
A  Walk  to  Fiesole — View  of  Val  d’ Arno— Ancient  Roman  Theatre — Etruscan 
Walls — The  Tombs  of  Santa  Croce— The  Pitti  Palace — Titian’s  “  Bella” — The  Ma¬ 
donna  della  Sedia— Michael  Angelo’s  “Fates” — The  Boboli  Gardens — Royal  and 
Republican  Children. 


Florence,  September ,  1845. 

On  the  day  after  our  arrival  here  we  met  an  American  at 
the  table  d’hote  of  the  Lione  Bianco,  who  was  kind  enough 
to  assist  us  in  procuring  rooms,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  we 
were  comfortably  and  permanently  installed  in  Florence. 
We  have  taken  three  large  and  tolerably  well  furnished 
rooms  in  the  house  of  Signor  Lazzeri,  a  wealthy  goldsmith, 
in  the  Via  Vacchereccia,  for  which  we  pay  ten  scudi  per 
month — a  scudo  being  a  trifle  more  than  an  American  dollar. 
This  includes  lights,  and  the  attendance  of  servants,  to 
whom,  however,  we  are  expected  to  give  an  occasional 
gratuity.  We  live  at  the  Caffe*  and  Trnttorie  very  readily 
for  about  twenty-five  cents  a  day,  so  that  our  expenses  will 


352 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


not  exceed  twelve  dollars  a  month,  each.  For  our  dinners  at 
the  Trattoria  del  Cacciatore  we  pay  about  fourteen  cents, 
and  are  furnished  with  soup,  three  or  four  dishes  of  meat 
and  vegetables,  fruit  and  a  bottle  of  wine  !  *  These  dinners 
are  made  exceedingly  pleasant  and  cheerful  by  the  society 
of  several  American  artists  whose  acquaintance  we  have 
made.  Another  countryman,  Mr.  Tandy,  of  Kentucky, 
occupies  a  room  in  the  same  building  with  us,  and  will  make  ' 
our  trio  complete  after  the  departure  of  my  cousin,  who  will 

leave  shortly  for  Heidelberg.  B - and  I  are  so  charmed 

writh  the  place  and  the  beautiful  Tuscan  dialect,  that  we 
shall  endeavor  to  spend  three  or  four  months  here  and  master 
the  language,  before  proceeding  further. 

Our  first  walk  in  Florence  was  to  the  Royal  Gallery. 
Crossing  the  neighboring  Piazza  del  Granducay  we  passed 
Michael  Angelo’s  colossal  statue  of  David,  and  an  open  gal¬ 
lery  containing,  besides  some  antiques,  the  master-piece  of 
John  of  Bologna.  The  palace  of  the  Uffizii ,  fronting  on 
the  Arno,  extends  along  both  sides  of  an  avenue  running 
back  to  the  Palazzo  Vecchio.  We  entered  the  portico 
which  passes  around  under  the  great  building,  and  after 
ascending  three  or  four  flights  of  steps,  came  into  a  long  hall, 
filled  with  paintings  and  ancient  statuary.  Towards  the 
end  of  this,  a  door  opened  into  the  Tribune — that  celebrated 
room,  unsurpassed  by  any  in  the  world  for  the  number  and 
value  of  the  gems  it  contains.  I  pushed  aside  a  crimson 
curtain  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  Venus  de  Medici. 

It  may  be  considered  heresy,  but  I  confess  I  did  not  go 
into  raptures,  nor  at  first  perceive  any  traces  of  superhuman 
beauty.  The  predominant  feeling  was  satisfaction  ;  the  eye 


TITIAN  AND  RAPHAEL. 


353 


dwells  on  its  exquisite  outline  with  a  gratified  sense,  that 
nothing  is  wanting  to  render  it  perfect.  It  is  the  ideal  of  a 
woman’s  form — a  faultless  standard  by  which  all  beauty  may 
be  measured,  fyut  without  marked  expression,  except  in  the 
modest  and  graceful  position  of  the  limbs.  The  face,  though 
regular,  is  not  handsome,  and  the  body  appears  small,  being 
but  five  feet  in  height,  which,  I  think,  is  a  little  below  the 
average  stature  of  women.  On  each  side,  as  if  to  heighten 
its  elegance  by  contrast  with  rude  and  vigorous  nature,  are 
the  statues  of  the  Wrestlers,  and  the  slave  listening  to  the 
conspiracy  of  Catiline,  called  also  The  Whetter. 

As  if  to  correspond  with  the  value  of  the  works  it  holds, 
the  Tribune  is  paved  with  precious  marbles  and  the  ceiling 
studded  with  polished  mother-of-pearl.  A  dim  and  subdued 
light  fills  the  hall,  and  throws  over  the  mind  that  half- 
dreamy  tone  necessary  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  such  objects. 
On  each  side  of  the  Venus  de  Medici  hangs  a  Venus  by 
Titian,  the  size  of  life,  and  painted  in  that  rich  and  gorgeous 
style  of  coloring  which  has  been  so  often  and  vainly  attempt¬ 
ed  since  his  time.  Here  also  are  six  of  Raphael’s  best  pre¬ 
served  paintings.  I  prefer  the  “  St.  John  in  the  Desert”  to 
any  other  picture  in  the  Tribune.  His  glorious  form,  in  the 
fair  proportions  of  ripening  boyhood — the  grace  of  his  atti¬ 
tude,  with  the  arm  lifted  eloquently  on  high — the  divine 
inspiration  which  illumines  his  young  features — chain  the 
6tep  irresistibly  before  it.  It  is  one  of  those  triumphs  of  the 
pencil  which  few  but  Raphael  have  accomplished. 

The  “  Drunken  Bacchus”  of  Michael  Angelo  is  greatly 
admired,  and  indeed  it  might  pass  for  a  relic  of  the  palmiest 
times  of  Grecian  art.  The  face,  amidst  its  half-vacant, 


354 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sensual  expression,  shows  traces  of  its  immortal  origin,  and 
there  is  still  an  air  of  dignity  preserved  in  the  swagger  of 
his  beautiful  form.  At  one  end  of  the  gallery  is  a  fine  copy 
in  marble  of  the  Laocoon,  by  Bandinelli,  one  of  the  rivals 
of  Michael  Angelo.  When  it  was  finished,  the  former  boast¬ 
ed  it  was  better  than  the  original,  to  which  Michael  made 
the  apt  reply :  “  It  is  foolish  for  those  who  wmlk  in  the  foot¬ 
steps  of  others,  to  say  they  go  before  them  I” 

Let  us  enter  the  hall  of  X iobe.  One  starts  back  on  seeing 
the  many  figures  in  the  attitude  of  flight,  for  they  seem  at 

r 

first  about  to  spring  from  their  pedestals.  At  the  head  of 
the  room  stands  the  afflicted  mother,  bending  over  the 
youngest  daughter,  who  clings  to  her  knees,  with  an  upturn¬ 
ed  countenance  of  deep  and  imploring  agony.  In  vain  f 
the  shafts  of  Apollo  fall  thick,  and  she  will  soon  be  childless. 
Xo  wonder  the  strength  of  that  woe  depicted  on  her  counte¬ 
nance  should  change  her  into  stone.  One  of  her  sons — a 
beautiful,  boyish  form, — is  lying  on  his  back,  just  expiring, 
with  the  chill  languor  of  death  creeping  over  his  limbs.  We 
seem  to  hear  the  quick  whistling  of  the  arrows,  and  look 
involuntarily  into  the  air  to  see  the  hovering  figure  of  the 
avenging  god.  In  a  chamber  near  is  kept  the  head  of  a 
faun,  made  by  Michael  Angelo,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  in 
the  garden  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  from  a  piece  of  marble 
given  him  by  the  workmen. 

Italy  still  remains  the  home  of  Art,  and  it  is  but  just  she 
should  keep  these  treasures,  though  the  age  that  brought 
them  forth  has  passed  away.  They  are  her  only  support 
now ;  her  people  are  dependent  for  their  subsistence  on  the 
glory  of  the  Past.  The  spirits  of  the  old  painters,  living 


VALUE  OF  ART  TO  ITALY, 


355 


still  on  their  canvas,  earn  from  year  to  year  the  bread  of 
an  indigent  and  oppressed  people.  This  ought  to  silence 
those  utilitarians  at  home,  who  oppose  the  cultivation  of  the 
fine  arts,  on  the  ground  of  their  being  useless  luxuries.  Let 
them  look  to  Italy,  where  a  picture  by  Raphael  or  Correggio 
is  a  rich  legacy  for  a  whole  city.  Nothing  is  useless  that 
gratifies  that  perception  of  Beauty,  which  is  at  once  the  most 
delicate  and  the  most  intense  of  our  mental  sensations,  bind¬ 
ing  us  by  an  unconscious  link  nearer  to  nature  and  to  Him, 
whose  every  thought  is  born  of  Beauty,  Truth  and  Love.  I 
envy  not  the  man  who  looks  with  a  cold  and  indifferent 
spirit  on  these  immortal  creations  of  the  old  masters — these 
poems  written  in  marble  and  on  the  canvas.  They  who 
oppose  every  thing  which  can  refine  and  spiritualize  the 
nature  of  man,  by  binding  him  down  to  the  cares  of  the 
work-day  world  alone,  cheat  life  of  half  its  glory. 

The  sky  was  clear  and  blue,  as  it  always  is  in  this  Italian 
paradise,  when  we  left  Florence  a  few  days  ago  for  Fiesole. 
We  passed  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  with  its  triumphal  arch  to 
the  Emperor  Francis,  striding  the  road  to  Bologna,  and 
took  the  way  to  Fiesole  along  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent.  The  dwellings  of  the  Florentine  nobility  occupy  the 
whole  slope,  surrounded  with  rich  and  lovely  gardens.  The 
mountain  and  plain  are  covered  with  luxuriant  olive  or¬ 
chards,  whose  foliage  of  silver  gray  gives  the  scene  the  look 
of  a  moonlight  landscape.  At  the  base  of  the  mountain  of 
Fiesole  we  passed  one  of  the  summer  palaces  of  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  and  a  little  distance  beyond,  took  a  foot-path 
overshadowed  by  magnificent  cypresses,  between  whose 


356 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


dark  trunks  we  looked  down  on  the  lovely  Val  d’Arno.  But 
I  will  reserve  all  description  of  the  view  until  we  arrive  at 
the  summit. 

The  modern  village  of  Fiesole  occupies  the  site  of  an 
ancient  city,  generally  supposed  to  be  of  Etrurian  origin. 
Just  above,  on  one  of  the  peaks  of  the  mountain,  stands  the 
Acropolis,  formerly  used  as  a  fortress,  but  now  untenanted 
save  by  a  few  monks.  From  its  walls,  beneath  the  shade  of 
a  few  cypresses,  there  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  whole  of 
Val  d’Arno,  with  Florence — the  gem  of  Italy — in  the  cen¬ 
tre.  Stand  with  me  a  moment  on  the  height,  and  let  us 
gaze  on  this  grand  panorama,  around  which  the  Apennines 
stretch  with  a  majestic  sweep,  wrapped  in  a  robe  of  purple  air, 
through  which  shimmer  the  villas  and  villages  on  their  sides ! 
The  lovely  vale  lies  below  us  in  its  garb  of  olive  groves, 
among  which  beautiful  villas  are  sprinkled  as  plentifully  as 
white  anemones  in  the  woods  of  May.  Florence  is  in  front 
of  us,  the  magnificent  cupola  of  the  Duomo  crowning  its 
clustered  palaces.  We  see  the  airy  tower  of  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio — the  new  spire  of  Santa  Croce — and  the  long  front  of 
the  Palazzo  Pitti,  with  the  dark  foliage  of  the  Boboli  Gardens 
behind.  Beyond,  far  to  the  south,  are  the  summits  of  the 
mountains  near  Siena.  We  can  trace  the  sandy  bed  of  the 
Arno  down  the  valley  until  it  disappears  at  the  foot  of  the 
Lower  Appenines,  which  mingle  in  the  distance  writh  the 
mountains  of  Carrara. 

Galileo  was  wont  to  make  observations  “  at  evening  from 
the  top  of  Fiesole,”  and  the  square  tower  of  the  old  church 
is  still  pointed  out  as  the  spot.  Many  a  night  did  he  ascend 


ANCIENT  HOMAN  THEATRE. 


357 


to  its  projecting  terrace,  and  watch  the  stars  as  they  rolled 
around  through  the  clearest  heaven  to  which  a  philosopher 
ever  looked  up. 

We  passed  through  an  orchard  of  fig  trees,  and  vines 
laden  with  beautiful  purple  and  golden  clusters,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  reached  the  remains  of  an  amphitheatre,  in  a  little 
nook  on  the  mountain  side.  This  was  a  work  of  Roman 
construction,  as  its  form  indicates.  Three  or  four  ranges  of 
seats  alone  are  laid  bare,  and  these  have  only  been  dis¬ 
covered  within  a  few  years.  A  few  steps  further  we  came 
to  a  sort  of  cavern,  overhung  with  wild  fig-trees.  After 
creeping  in  at  the  entrance,  we  found  ourselves  in  an  oval 
chamber,  tall  enough  to  admit  of  our  standing  upright,  and 
rudely  but  very  strongly  built.  This  was  one  of  the  dens 
in  which  the  wild  beasts  were  kept ;  they  were  fed  by  a 
hole  in  the  top,  now  closed  up.  This  cell  communicates 
with  four  or  five  others,  by  apertures  broken  in  the  walls.  I 
stepped  into  one,  and  could  see  in  the  dim  light,  that  it  was 
exactly  similar  to  the  first,  and  opened  into  another  beyond. 

Further  down  the  mountain  we  found  the  ancient  wall  of 
the  city,  without  doubt  of  Etrurian  origin.  It  is  of  immense 
blocks  of  stone,  and  extends  more  or  less  dilapidated  around 
the  whole  brow  of  the  mountain.  In  one  place  there  stands 
a  solitary  gateway,  of  large  stones,  which  appears  to  have 
been  one  of  the  first  attempts  at  using  the  principle  of  the 
arch.  These  ruins  are  all  gray  and  ivied,  and  it  startles 
one  to  think  what  a  history  the  Earth  has  lived  through, 
since  their  foundations  were  laid  ! 

One  of  my  first  visits  was  to  the  church  of  Santa  Croce. 
This  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  Florence,  venerated  alike  by 


358 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


foreigners  and  citizens,  for  the  illustrious  dead  whose 
remains  it  holds.  It  is  a  plain,  gloomy  pile,  the  front  of 
which  is  still  unfinished,  though  at  the  base  one  sees  that  it 
was  originally  designed  to  be  covered  with  black  marble. 
On  entering  the  door  we  first  saw  the  tomb  of  Michael 
Angelo.  Around  the  marble  sarcophagus  which  contains 
his  ashes  are  three  mourning  figures,  representing  Sculpture, 
Painting,  and  Architecture,  and  his  bust  stands  above — a 
rough,  stern  countenance,  like  a  man  of  vast  but  impatient 
mind.  Further  on  are  the  tombs  of  Alfieri  and  Machiavelli, 
and  the  colossal  cenotaph  lately  erected  to  Dante.  Opposite 
reposes  Galileo.  What  a  world  of  renown  in  these  few 
names  !  It  makes  one  venerate  the  majesty  of  his  race,  to 
stand  beside  the  dust  of  such  lofty  spirits. 

In  that  part  of  the  city,  which  lies  on  the  south  bank  of 
the  Arno,  is  the  palace  of  the  Grand  Duke,  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Palazzo  Pitti,  from  a  Florentine  noble  of  that 
name,  by  whom  it  was  first  built.  It  is  a  very  large,  impos¬ 
ing  pile,  preserving  an  air  of  lightness  in  spite  of  the  rough, 
heavy  masonry.  It  is  another  example  of  a  magnificent 
failure.  The  Marquis  Strozzi,  having  built  a  palace  which 
was  universally  admired  for  its  beauty,  (which  stands  yet,  a 
model  of  chaste  and  massive  elegance,)  his  rival,  the  Marquis 
Pitti,  made  the  proud  boast  that  he  would  build  a  palace,  in 
the  court-yard  of  which  could  be  placed  that  of  Strozzi. 
These  are  actually  the  dimensions  of  the  court-yard ;  but  in 
building  the  palace,  although  he  was  liberally  assisted  by  the 
Florentine  people,  he  ruined  himself,  and  his  magnificent 
residence  passed  into  other  hands,  while  that  of  Strozzi  is 
inhabited  by  his  descendants  to  this  very  day. 


GALLERY  OF  THE  PITTI  PALACE. 


359 


The  gallery  of  the  Palazzo  Pitti  is  one  of  the  finest  in 
Europe.  It  contains  six  or  seven  hundred  paintings,  select¬ 
ed  from  the  best  works  of  the  Italian  masters.  By  the 
praiseworthy  liberality  of  the  Duke,  they  are  open  to  the 
public,  six  hours  every  day,  and  the  rooms  are  thronged 
with  artists  of  all  nations.  Among  Titian’s  works,  there  is 
his  celebrated  “  Bella,”  a  half-length  figure  of  a  young  wo¬ 
man.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  warm  and  brilliant  coloring, 
without  any  decided  expression.  The  countenance  is  that 
of  vague,  undefined  thought,  as  of  one  who  knew  as  yet 
nothing  of  the  realities  of  life.  In  another  room  is  his 
Magdalen,  a  large,  voluptuous  form,  with  her  brown  hair 
falling  like  a  veil  over  her  shoulders  and  breast,  but  in 
her  upturned  countenance  one  can  sooner  read  a  prayer 
for  an  absent  lover  than  repentance  for  sins  she  has  com¬ 
mitted. 

What  could  excel  in  beauty  the  Madonna  della  Sedia  of 
Raphael  ?  It  is  another  of  those  works  of  that  divine  artist, 
on  which  we  gaze  and  gaze  with  a  never- satisfied  enjoyment 
of  its  angelic  loveliness.  Like  his  unrivalled  Madonna  in  the 
Dresden  Gallery,  its  beauty  is  spiritual  as  well  as  earthly ; 
and  while  gazing  on  the  glorious  countenance  of  the  Jesus- 
child,  I  feel  an  impulse  I  can  scarcely  explain — a  longing 
to  tear  it  from  the  canvas  as  if  it  were  a  breathing  form,  and 
clasp  it  to  my  heart  in  a  glow  of  passionate  love. 

There  is  a  small  group  of  the  “  Fates,”  by  Michael  Angelo, 
which  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  few  pictures  that  remain  of 
him.  As  is  well  known,  he  disliked  the  art,  saying  it  was 
only  fit  for  women.  This  picture  shows,  however,  how  much 
he  might  have  done  for  it,  had  he  been  so  inclined.  The 


360 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


‘1 


three  weird  sisters  are  ghostly  and  awful — the  further  one 
holding  the  distaff,  almost  frightful.  She  who  stands  ready 
to  cut  the  thread  as  it  is  spun  out,  has  a  slight  trace  of  pity  on 
her  fixed  and  unearthly  lineaments.  It  is  a  faithful  embodi¬ 
ment  of  the  old  Greek  idea  of  the  Fates.  I  have  wondered 
why  some  artist  has  not  attempted  the  subject  in  a  different 
way.  In  the  Northern  Mythology  they  are  represented  as 
wild  maidens,  armed  with  swords  and  mounted  on  fiery  cour¬ 
sers.  Why  might  they  not  also  be  pictured  as  angels,  with 
countenances  of  a  sublime  and  mysterious  beauty — one  all 
radiant  with  hope  and  promise  of  glory,  and  one  with  the 
token  of  a  better  future  mingled  with  the  sadness  with  which 
she  severs  the  links  of  life  ? 

Occupying  all  the  hill  back  of  the  Pitti  Palace,  are  the 
Boboli  Gardens,  three  times  a  week  the  great  resort  of  the 
Florentines.  They  are  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  gar¬ 
dens  in  Italy.  Numberless  paths,  diverging  from  a  magni¬ 
ficent  amphitheatre  in  the  old  Roman  style,  opposite  the 
court-yard,  lead  either  in  long  flights  of  steps  and  ter¬ 
races,  or  gentle  windings  among  beds  sweet  with  roses,  to 
the  summit.  Long  avenues  entirely  arched  and  embowered 
with  the  thick  foliage  of  the  laurel,  which  here  grows  to  a 
tree,  stretch  along  the  slopes  or  wind  in  the  woods  through 
thickets  of  the  fragrant  bay.  Parterres,  rich  with  flowers  and 
shrubbery,  alternate  with  delightful  groves  of  the  Italian 
pine,  acacia,  and  the  laurel-leaved  oak ;  and  along  the  hill¬ 
side,  gleaming  among  the  foliage,  are  placed  statues  of 
marble,  some  of  which  are  from  the  chisels  of  Michael 
Angelo  and  Bandinelli.  In  one  part  there  is  a  little  sheet 
of  water,  with  an  island  of  orange-trees  in  the  centre,  from 


f 


ROYAL  AND  REPUBLICAN  CHILDREN.  361 

*'■  -X  \»  If  '<**  -  •  '*’  •  % 

which  a  broad  avenue  of  cypresses  and  statues  leads  to  the 
very  summit  of  the  hill. 

We  often  go  there  to  watch  the  sun  set  over  Florence 
and  the  vale  of  the  Arno.  The  palace  lies  directly  below, 
and  a  clump  of  pine  trees  on  the  hillside,  that  stand  out  in 
bold  relief  on  the  glowing  sky,  makes  the  foreground  to  one 
of  the  loveliest  pictures  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  saw  one 
afternoon  the  Grand  Duke  and  his  family  get  into  their 
carriage  to  drive  out.  One  of  the  little  dukes,  who  seemed 
a  mischievous  imp,  ran  out  on  a  projection  of  the  portico, 
where  considerable  persuasion  had  to  be  used  to  induce  him 
to  jump  into  the  arms  of  his  royal  papa.  I  turned  from 
these  titled  infants  to  watch  a  group  of  beautiful  American 
children  playing,  for  my  attention  was  drawn  to  them  by 
the  sound  of  familiar  words,  and  I  learned  afterwards  they 
were  the  children  of  the  sculptor  Powers.  I  contrasted 
involuntarily  the  destinies  of  each  ; — one  to  the  enjoyment 
and  proud  energy  of  freedom,  and  one  to  the  confining  and 
vitiating  atmosphere  of  a  court.  The  merry  voices  of  the 
latter,  as  they  played  on  the  grass,  came  to  my  ears  most 
gratefully.  There  is  nothing  so  sweet  as  to  hear  one’s 
native  tongue  in  a  foreign  land  from  the  lips  of  children  ! 


16 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  VALLOMBROSA. 

A  Pilgrimage  to  Yallombrosa — The  Talley  of  the  Arno— Rain — Tuscan  Peasants — 
Pellago  —  Associations  —  Climbing  the  Mountain  —  Pastoral  Scenery — Monastic 
Wealth — Arrival  at  Yallombrosa — An  Italian  Panorama — The  Paradisino— An 
Escape  from  the  Devil — A  Capture  by  the  Devil — The  Chapel — Milton  in  Italy — 
Departure  from  Yallombrosa — Evening  on  the  Mountain  Side — The  Charms  of 
Italy. 

A  pilgrimage  to  Vallombrosa ! — in  sooth  it  has  a  romantic 
sound.  The  phrase  calls  up  images  of  rosaries,  and  crosses, 
and  shaven-headed  friars.  Had  we  lived  in  the  olden  days, 
such  things  might  verily  have  accompanied  our  journey  to 
that  holy  monastery.  We  might  then  have  gone  barefoot, 
saying  prayers  as  we  toiled  along  the  banks  of  the  Arno 
and  up  the  steep  Appenines,  as  did  Benvenuto  Cellini,  be- 
fore  he  poured  the  melted  bronze  into  the  mould  of  his 
immortal  Perseus.  But  we  are  pilgrims  to  the  shrines  of 
Art  and  Genius ;  the  dwelling-places  of  great  minds  are  our 
sanctuaries.  The  mean  dwelling,  in  which  a  poet  has  bat¬ 
tled  down  poverty  with  the  ecstasy  of  his  lofty  conceptions, 
and  the  dungeon  in  which  a  persecuted  philosopher  lias 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  ARNO. 


363 


languished,  are  to  us  sacred ;  we  turn  aside  from  the  palaces 
of  kings  and  the  battle-fields  of  conquerors,  to  visit  them. 
The  famed  miracles  of  San  Giovanni  Gualberto  added  little, 
in  our  eyes,  to  the  interest  of  Yallombrosa,  but  there  was 
reverence  and  inspiration  in  the  names  of  Dante,  Milton,  and 
Ariosto, 

We  left  Florence  early,  taking  the  way  that  leads  from 
the  Porta  della  Croce,  up  the  north  bank  of  the  Arno.  It 
was  a  bright  morning,  but  there  was  a  shade  of  vapor  on  the 
hills,  which  a  practised  eye  might  have  taken  as  a  prognostic 
of  the  rain  that  too  soon  came  on.  Fiesole,  with  its  tower 
and  Acropolis,  stood  out  brightly  from  the  blue  background, 
and  the  hill  of  San  Miniato  lay  with  its  cypress  groves  in 
the  softest  morning  light.  The  Contadini  were  driving  into 
the  city  in  their  basket  wagons,  and  there  were  some  fair 
young  faces  among  them,  which  made  us  think  that  Italian 
beauty  is  not  altogether  in  the  imagination. 

After  walking  three  or  four  miles,  we  entered  the  Appe- 
nines,  keeping  along  the  bank  of  the  Arno,  whose  bed  is 
more  than  half  dried  up  from  the  long  summer  heats.  The 
mountain  sides  were  covered  with  vineyards,  glowing  with 
their  wealth  of  white  and  purple  grapes,  but  the  summits 
were  naked  and  barren.  We  passed  through  the  little  town 
of  Ponte  Sieve,  at  the  entrance  of  a  romantic  valley,  where 
our  view  of  the  Arno  was  made  more  interesting  by  the 
lofty  range  of  the  Appenines,  amid  whose  forests  we  could 
see  the  white  front  of  the  monastery  of  Yallombrosa.  But 
the  clouds  sank  low  and. hid  it  from  sight,  and  the  rain  came 
on  so  hard  that  we  were  obliged  to  take  shelter  occasionally 
in  the  cottages  by  the  wayside.  In  one  of  these  we  made 


364 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


a  dinner  of  the  hard,  black  bread  of  the  country,  rendered 
palatable  by  the  addition  of  mountain  cheese  and  some  chips 
of  an  antique  Bologna  sausage.  We  were  much  amused  in 
conversing  with  the  simple  hosts  and  their  shy,  gipsy-like 
children,  one  of  whom,  a  dark-eyed,  curly -haired  boy,  bore 
the  name  of  Raphael.  We  also  became  acquainted  with  a 
shoemaker  and  his  family,  who  owned  a  little  olive  orchard 
and  vineyard,  which  they  said  produced  enough  to  support 
them.  Wishing  to  know  how  much  a  family  of  six  consum¬ 
ed  in  a  year,  we  inquired  the  yield  of  their  property.  They  < 
answered,  twenty  small  barrels  of  wine,  and  ten  of  oil.  It 
was  nearly  sunset  when  we  reached  Pellago,  and  the  wet 
walk  and  coarse  fare  we  were  obliged  to  take  on  the  road, 
well  qualified  us  to  enjoy  the  excellent  supper  the  pleasant 
landlady  gave  us. 

This  little  town  is  among  the  Appenines,  at  the  foot  of  the 
magnificent  mountain  of  Yallombrosa.  What  a  blessing  it 
was  for  Milton,  that  he  saw  its  loveliness  before  his  eyes 
closed  on  this  beautiful  earth,  and  gained  from  it  another  hue 
in  which  to  dip  his  pencil,  when  he  painted  the  bliss  of 
Eden  !  I  watched  the  hills  all  day  as  we  approached  them, 
and  thought  how  often  his  eyes  had  rested  on  their  out¬ 
lines,  and  how  he  had  carried  their  forms  in  his  memory  for 
many  a  sunless  year.  The  banished  Dante,  too,  had  trod¬ 
den  them,  flying  from  his  ungrateful  country  ;  and  many 
another,  whose  genius  has  made  him  a  beacon  in  the  dark 
sea  of  the  world’s  history.  It  is  one  of  those  places  where 
the  enjoyment  is  all  romance,  and  the  blood  thrills  as  we 
gaze  upon  it. 

We  started  early  next  morning,  crossed  the  ravine,  and 


i 


PASTORAL  SCENERY. 


365 


took  tlie  well-paved  way  to  the  monastery  along  tlie  moun¬ 
tain  side.  The  stones  are  worn  smooth  by  the  sleds  in 
which  ladies  and  provisions  are  conveyed  up,  drawn  by  the 
beautiful  white  Tuscan  oxen.  The  hills  are  covered  with 
luxuriant  chestnut  and  oak  trees,  of  those  picturesque  forms 

which  they  only  wear  in  Italy:  one  wild  dell  in  particular 

% 

is  much  resorted  to  by  painters  for  the  ready-made  fore¬ 
grounds  it  supplies.  Further  on,  we  passed  the  Poterno, 
a  rich  farm  belonging  to  the  Monks.  The  vines  which  hung 
from  tree  to  tree,  were  almost  breaking  beneath  clusters  as 
heavy  and  rich  as  those  which  the  children  of  Israel  bore 
on  staves  from  the  Promised  Land.  Of  their  flavor,  we  can 
say,  from  experience,  they  were  worthy  to  have  grown  in 
Paradise.  We  then  entered  a  deep  dell  of  the  mountain, 
where  little  shepherd  girls  were  sitting  on  the  rocks  tending 
their  sheep  and  spinning  with  their  fingers  from  a  distaff,  in 
the  same  manner,  doubtless,  as  the  Roman  shepherdesses 
two  thousand  years  ago.  Gnarled,  gray  olive  trees,  centu¬ 
ries  old,  grew  upon  the  bare  soil,  and  a  little  rill  fell  in  many 
a  tiny  cataract  down  the  glen.  By  a  mill,  in  one  of  the 
coolest  and  wildest  nooks  I  ever  saw,  two  of  us  acted  the 
part  of  water-sprites  under  one  of  these,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  four  peasants  who  watched  us  from  a  dis¬ 
tance. 

Beyond,  our  road  led  through  forests  of  chestnut  and  oak, 
and  a  broad  view  of  mountain  and  vale  lay  below  us.  We 
asked  a  peasant  boy  we  met,  how  much  land  the  Monks  of 
Vallombrosa  possessed.  “  All  that  you  see  !”  was  the  re- 
ply.  The  dominion  of  the  good  fathers  reached  once  even 
to  the  gates  of  Florence.  At  length,  about  noon,  we  emerged 


366 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


from  the  woods  into  a  broad  avenue  leading  across  a  lawn, 
at  the  extremity  of  which  stood  the  massive  buildings  of 
the  monastery.  On  a  rock  that  towered  above  it,  was 
the  Paradisino ,  beyond  which  rose  the  mountain,  covered 
with  forests — 

"  Shade  above  shade,  a  woody  theatre 
Of  stateliest  view.” 

TVe  were  met  at  the  entrance  by  a  young  monk  in  cowl 
and  cassock,  to  whom  we  applied  for  permission  to  stay  until 
the  next  day,  which  was  immediately  given.  Brother  Pla- 
cido  (for  that  was  his  name)  then  asked  us  if  we  would  not 
have  dinner.  We  replied  that  our  appetites  were  none  the 
worse  for  climbing  the  mountain  ;  and  in  half  an  hour  sat 
down  to  a  dinner,  the  like  of  which  we  had  not  seen  for  a 
long  time.  Verily,  thought  I,  it  must  be  a  pleasant  thing  to 
be  a  monk,  after  all ! — that  is,  a  monk  of  Vallombrosa. 

In  the  afternoon  we  walked  through  a  grand  pine  forest 

\ 

to  the  western  brow  of  the  mountain,  where  a  view  opened 
which  it  would  require  a  wonderful  power  of  the  imagina¬ 
tion  for  the  reader  to  see  in  fancy,  as  I  did  in  reality.  From 
the  height  where  we  stood,  the  view  was  uninterrupted  to 
the  Mediterranean,  a  distance  of  more  than  seventy  miles ; 
a  valley  watered  by  a  branch  of  the  Arno  swept  far  to  the 
east,  to  the  mountains  near  the  lake  of  Thrasymene  ;  north¬ 
westwards  the  hills  of  Carrara  bordered  the  horizon  ;  and 
the  space  between  these  wide  points  was  filled  with  moun¬ 
tains  and  valleys,  all  steeped  in  that  soft  blue  mist  which 
makes  Italian  landscapes  more  like  heavenly  visions  than 
realities.  Florence  was  visible  afar  off,  and  the  current  of 


AN  ESCAPE  FROM  THE  DEVIL. 


3G7 


the  Arno  flashed  in  the  sun.  A  cool  and  almost  chilling 
wind  blew  constantly  over  the  mountain,  although  the 
country  below  basked  in  summer  heat.  We  lay  on  the 
rocks,  and  let  our  souls  luxuriate  in  the  lovely  scene  until 
near  sunset.  Brother  Placido  brought  us  supper  in  the 
evening,  with  his  ever-smiling  countenance,  and  we  soon 
after  went  to  our  beds  in  the  neat,  plain  chambers,  to  get 
rid  of  the  unpleasant  coldness. 

Next  morning  it  was  damp  and  misty,  and  thick  clouds 
rolled  down  the  forests  towards  the  convent.  I  set  out  for 
the  “  Little  Paradise,”  taking  in  my  way  the  pretty  cascade 
which  falls  some  fifty  feet  down  the  rocks.  The  building  is 
not  now  as  it  was  when  Milton  lived  there,  having  been 
rebuilt  within  a  short  time.  I  found  no  one  there,  and 
satisfied  my  curiosity  by  climbing  over  the  wall  and  looking 
in  at  the  windows.  A  little  chapel  stands  in  the  cleft  of  the 

v 

rock  below,  to  mark  the  miraculous  escape  of  St.  John 
Gualberto,  founder  of  the  monastery.  Being  one  day  very 
closely  pursued  by  the  Devil,  he  took  shelter  under  the 
rock,  which  immediately  became  soft  and  admitted  him  into 
it,  while  the  fiend,  unable  to  stop,  was  precipitated  over  the 
steep.  All  this  is  related  in  a  Latin  inscription,  and  we  saw 
a  large  hollow  in  the  rock  near,  which  must  have  been 
intended  for  the  imprint  left  by  his  sacred  person. 

One  of  the  monks  told  us  another  legend,  concerning  a 
little  chapel  which  stands  alone  on  a  wild  part  of  the 
mountain,  above  a  rough  pile  of  crags,  called  the  “  Peak  of 
the  Devil.’’  “  In  the  time  of  San  Giovanni  Gualberto,  the 
holy  founder  of  our  order,”  said  he,  “  there  was  a  young 
man,  of  a  noble  family  in  Florence,  who  was  so  moved  by 


368 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  words  of  the  saintly  father,  that  he  forsook  the  world, 
wherein  he  had  lived  with  great  luxury  and  dissipation,  and 
became  monk.  But,  after  a  time,  being  young  and  tempted 
again  by  the  pleasures  he  had  renounced,  he  put  off  the 
sacred  garments.  The  holy  San  Giovanni  warned  him  of 
the  terrible  danger  in  which  he  stood ;  and  at  length  the 
wicked  young  man  returned.  It  was  not  a  great  wdiile, 
however,  before  he  became  dissatisfied,  and  in  spite  of  all 
holy  counsel,  did  the  same  thing.  But  behold  what  hap¬ 
pened  !  As  he  was  walking  along  the  peak  where  the 
chapel  stands,  thinking  nothing  of  his  great  crime,  the  devil 
sprang  suddenly  from  behind  a  rock,  and  catching  the  young 
man  in  his  arms,  before  he  could  escape,  carried  him  with  a 
dreadful  noise  and  a  great  red  flame  and  smoke  over  the 
precipice,  so  that  he  was  never  afterwards  seen.” 

The  church  attached  to  the  monastery  is  small,  but  very 
solemn  and  venerable.  I  went  several  times  to  muse  in  its 
still,  gloomy  aisle,  and  hear  the  murmuring  chant  of -the 
monks,  who  w~ent  through  their  exercises  in  some  of  the 
chapels.  At  one  time  I  saw  them  all,  in  long,  black  cas¬ 
socks,  march  in  solemn  order  to  the  chapel  of  St.  John 
Gualberto,  where  they  sang  a  deep  chant,  which  to  me  had 
something  awful  and  sepulchral  in  it.  Behind  the  high  altar 

/ 

I  saw  their  black,  carved  chairs  of  polished  oak,  with  pon¬ 
derous  gilded  foliants  lying  on  the  rails  before  them.  The 
attendant  opened  one  of  these,  that  we  might  see  the  manu¬ 
script  notes,  three  or  four  centuries  old,  from  which  they  sang. 

We  were  much  amused  in  looking  through  two  or  three 
Italian  books,  which  were  lying  in  the  travellers’  room.  One 
of  these  which  our  friend,  Mr.  Tandy,  read,  described  the 


MILTON  IN  ITALY. 


369 


miracles  of  the  patron  saint  with  an  air  of  tlie  most  ridicu¬ 
lous  solemnity.  The  other  was  a  description  of  the  Monas¬ 
tery,  its  foundation,  history,  etc.  In  mentioning  its  great 
and  far-spread  renown,  the  author  stated  that  even  an  Eng¬ 
lish  poet,  by  the  name  of  Milton,  had  mentioned  it  in  the 
following  lines,  which  I  copied  verbatim  from  the  hook  : 

“Thick  as  autumnal  scaves  that  strow  she  brooks 
In  vallombrosa,  whereth  Etruian  Jades 
Stigh  over  orch  d’embrover !” 

We  were  so  delighted  with  the  place  that  we  would  have 
stayed  another  day,  hut  for  fear  of  trespassing  too  much  on 
the  lavish  and  unceasing  hospitality  of  the  good  fathers..  So 
in  the  afternoon  we  shook  hands  with  Brother  Placido,  and 
turned  our  backs  regretfully  upon  one  of  the  loneliest  and 
loveliest  spots  of  which  earth  can  boast.  The  sky  became 
gradually  clear  as  we  descended,  and  the  mist  raised  itself 
from  the  distant  mountains.  We  ran  down  through  the 
same  chestnut  groves,  diverging  a  little  to  visit  the  village  of 
Tosi,  which  is  very  picturesque  when  seen  from  a  distance,  hut 
extremely  dirty  to  one  passing  through.  I  stopped  in  the 
ravine  below  to  take  a  sketch  of  the  mill  and  bridge,  and  as 
we  sat,  the  line  of  'golden  sunlight  rose  higher  on  the  moun¬ 
tains  above.  On  walking  down  the  shady  side  of  this  glen, 
we  were  enraptured  with  the  scenery.  A  brilliant  yet  mel¬ 
low  glow  lay  over  the  whole  opposing  height,  lighting  up 
the  houses  of  Tosi  and  the  white  cottages,  half  seen  among 
the  olives,  while  the  mountain  of  Vallombrosa  stretched  far 
heavenward  like  a  sunny  painting,  with  only  a  misty  wreath 
floating  and  waving  around  its  summit.  The  glossy  foliage 

of  the  chestnuts  was  made  still  brighter  by  the  warm  light, 

16* 


370 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


and  tlie  old  olives  softened  down  into  a  silvery  gray,  whose 
contrast  gave  the  landscape  a  character  of  the  mellowest 
beauty.  As  we  wound  out  of  the  deep  glen,  the  broad  val¬ 
leys  and  ranges  of  the  Appenines  lay  before  us,  forests,  cas¬ 
tles,  and  villages  steeped  in  the  soft,  vapory  blue  of  the  Ita¬ 
lian  atmosphere,  and  the  current  of  the  Arno  flashing  like  a 
golden  belt  through  the  middle  of  the  picture. 

The  sun  was  nearly  down,  and  the  mountains  just  below 
him  were  of  a  deep  purple  hue,  while  those  that  ran  out  to 
the  eastward  wore  the  most  aerial  shade  of  blue.  A  few 
scattered  clouds,  floating  above,  soon  put  on  the  sunset  robe 
of  orange,  and  a  band  of  the  same  soft  color  encircled  the 
western  horizon.  It  did  not  reach  half  way  to  the  zenith, 
however  ;  the  sky  above  was  blue,  of  such  a  depth  and 
transparency,  that  to  gaze  above  was  like  looking  into 
eternity.  Then  how  softly  and  soothingly  the  twilight  came 
on  !  How  deep  a  hush  sank  on  the  chestnut  glades,  broken 
only  by  the  song  of  the  cicada,  chirping  its  good-night  carol ! 
The  mountains,  too,  how  majestic  they  stood  in  their  deep 
purple  outlines  !  Sweet,  sweet  Italy  !  I  can  feel  now  how 
the  soul  may  cling  to  thee,  since  thou  canst  thus  gratify  its 
insatiable  thirst  for  the  Beautiful.  Even  thy  plainest  scene 
is  clothed  in  hues  that  seem  borrowed  of  heaven  !  In  the 
twilight,  more  radiant  than  light,  and  the  stillness,  more  elo¬ 
quent  than  music,  which  sink  down  over  the  sunny  beauty 
of  thy  shores,  there  is  a  silent,  intense  poetry  that  stirs  tlie 
soul  through  all  its  impassioned  depths.  With  warm,  bliss¬ 
ful  tears  filling  the  eyes  and  a  heart  overflowing  with  its 
own  happy  fancies,  I  wander  in  the  solitude  and  calm  of 
such  a  time,  and  love  thee  as  if  I  were  a  child  of  thy  soil ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


FLORENCE  —  EXCURSIONS  AND  INCIDENTS. 

A  Walk  to  Siena— The  Landlady— The  Inn  at  Querciola— Siena  and  its  Cathedral- 

Parting  from  F - The  Grapes  of  Italy— The  Dome  of  the  Duomo— Climbing 

In  the  Dark— A  Cathedral  Scene— Walk  to  Pratolino— The  Vintage— The  Colossus 
of  the  Appenines— The  Grand  Duke’s  Farm— Degeneracy  of  the  Modern  Italians— 
The  Joy  of  Travel— The  Races  at  the  Cascine— The  Holy  Places  of  Florence— The 
Anatomical  Museum — American  Artists  in  Florence — Progress  of  American  Art- 
Brown — Kellogg — Greenough — Ives — Mozier — Powers — The  Statue  of  Eve — The 
Fisher  Boy— Ihraham  Pasha  in  Florence — Tuscan  Winter — Galileo’s  Tower— Our 
Financial  Experiences — Relief—1 The  Memory  of  Pleasure  and  Privation — An  Inci¬ 
dent — Boat  Voyage  on  the  Arno — Amateur  Starvation — The  Ascent  of  Monte 
Morello — The  Chapel  of  the  Medici— A  Farewell  Meditation. 

Florence,  October  22,  1845. 

Towards  the  end  of  September,  my  cousin,  who  was 
anxious  to  reach  Heidelberg  before  the  commencement  of 
the  winter  term  of  the  University,  left  Florence  on  foot  for 
Rome,  whence  he  intended  returning  to  Genoa  by  way  of 
Civita  Yecchia.  We  accompanied  him  as  far  as  Siena,  forty 
miles  from  here,  and  then  returned  to  our  old  quarters  and 
the  company  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Tandy.  The  excursion  was 
very  pleasant,  and  the  more  interesting  because  B - and 


372 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  intend  taking  the  mountain  road  to  Rome  by  way  of 
Perugia. 

We  dined  the  first  day  seventeen  miles  from  Florence,  at 
Tavenella,  where,  for  a  meagre  dinner,  the  hostess  had  the 
assurance  to  ask  us  seven  pauls.  We  told  her  we  would 
give  but  four  and  a  half,  and  by  assuming  a  decided  manner, 
with  a  respectful  use  of  the  word  “  Signora ,”  she  was  per¬ 
suaded  to  be  fully  satisfied  with  the  latter  sum.  From  a 
height  near,  we  could  see  the  mountains  coasting  the  Medi¬ 
terranean,  and  shortly  after,  on  descending  a  long  hill,  the 
little  town  of  Poggibonsi  lay  in  the  warm  afternoon  light,  on 
an  eminence  before  us.  It  was  soon  passed  with  its  dusky 
towers,  then  Stagia  looking  desolate  in  its  ruined  and  ivied 
walls,  and  following  the  advice  of  a  peasant,  we  stopped  for 
the  night  at  the  inn  of  Querciola.  As  we  knew  something 
of  Italian  by  this  time,  we  thought  it  best  to  inquire  the  price 
of  lodging,  before  entering.  The  padrone  asked  if  we  meant 
to  take  supper  also.  We  answered  in  the  affirmative  ;  “  then,” 
said  he,  “  you  will  pay  half  a  paul  (about  five  cents)  apiece 
for  a  bed.”  We  passed  under  the  swinging  bunch  of  boughs, 
which  in  Italy  is  the  universal  sign  of  an  inn  for  the  common 
people,  and  entered  the  bare,  smoky  room  appropriated  to 
travellers.  A  long  table,  with  well-worn  benches,  was  the 
only  furniture ;  we  threw  our  knapsacks  on  one  end  of  it 
and  sat  down,  amusing  ourselves,  while  supper  was  preparing, 
in  looking  at  a  number  of  grotesque  charcoal  drawings  on 
the  wail,  which  the  flaring  light  of  our  tall  iron  lamp  reveal¬ 
ed  to  us.  At  length  the  hostess,  a  kindly-looking  woman, 
with  a  white  handkerchief  folded  gracefully  around  her  head, 
brought  us  a  dish  of  fried  eggs,  which,  with  the  coarse  black 


SIENA  AND  ITS  CATHEDRAL. 


373 


bread  of  the  peasants  and  a  basket  full  of  rich  grapes,  made 
us  an  excellent  supper.  We  slept  on  mattresses  stuffed  with 
corn-husks,  placed  on  square  iron  frames,  which  are  the  bed¬ 
steads  most  used  in  Italy.  A  brightly -painted  caricature  of 
some  saint,  or  rough  crucifix,  trimmed  with  bay -leaves,  hung 
at  the  head  of  each  bed,  and  under  their  devout  protection 
we  enjoyed  a  safe  and  unbroken  slumber. 

Next  morning  we  set  out  early  to  complete  the  remaining 
ten  miles  to  Siena.  The  only  thing  of  interest  on  the  road, 
is  the  ruined  wall  and  battlements  of  Castiglione,  circling  a 
high  hill  and  looking  as  old  as  the  days  of  Etruria.  The 
towers  of  Siena  are  seen  at  some  distance,  but  the  traveller 
does  not  perceive  its  romantic  situation  until  he  arrives.  It 
stands  on  a  double  hill,  which  is  very  steep  on  some  sides  ; 
the  hollow  between  the  two  peaks  is  occupied  by  the  great 
public  square,  ten  or  fifteen  feet  lower  than  the  rest  of  the 
city.  We  left  our  knapsacks  at  a  cafe  and  sought  the  cele¬ 
brated  Cathedral,  which  stands  in  the  highest  part  of  the 
town,  forming  with  its  flat  dome  and  lofty  marble  tower,  an 
apex  to  the  pyramidal  mass  of  buildings. 

The  interior  is  rich  and  elegantly  perfect.  The  walls  are 
alternate  bands  of  black  and  white  marble,  which  has  a  sin¬ 
gular  but  agreeable  effect.  The  inside  of  the  dome  and  the 
vaulted  ceilings  of  the  chapels,  are  of  blue,  with  golden 
stars  ;  the  pavement  in  the  centre  is  so  precious  a  work  that 
it  is  kept  covered  with  boards  and  only  shown  once  a  year. 
In  an  adjoining  chamber,  with  frescoed  walls  and  a  beautiful 
tesselated  pavement,  is  the  library,  consisting  of  a  few  huge 
old  volumes,  which,  with  their  brown  covers  and  brazen 
clasps,  look  as  much  like  a  collection  of  flat  leather  trunks 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


as  any  thing  else.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  stands  the 
mutilated  group  of  the  Grecian  Graces,  found  in  digging  the 
foundation  of  the  Cathedral.  The  figures  are  still  beautiful 
and  graceful,  with  that  exquisite  curve  of  outline  which  is  such 
a  charm  in  the  antique  statues.  Canova  has  only  perfected 
the  idea  in  his  celebrated  group,  which  is  nearly  a  copy  of 
this. 

We  strolled  through  the  square  and  then  accompanied 

F - to  the  Roman  gate,  where  we  took  leave  of  him  for 

six  months  at  least.  He  felt  lonely  at  the  thought  of  walking 
in  Italy  without  a  companion,  but  was  cheered  by  the  antici¬ 
pation  of  soon  reaching  Rome.  We  watched  him  awhile, 
walking  rapidly  over  the  hot  plain  towards  Radicofani,  and 
then,  turning  our  faces  towards  Florence,  we  commenced 
the  return  walk.  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  delicious 
grapes  which  we  bought,  begged  and  stole  on  the  way. 
The  whole  country  is  a  vineyard — and  the  people  live,  in  a 
great  measure,  on  the  fruit  during  this  part  of  the  year. 
Would  the  reader  not  think  it  highly  romantic  and  agreeable 
to  sit  in  the  shade  of  a  cypress  grove,  beside  some  old 
weather-beaten  statues,  looking  out  over  the  vales  of  the 
Appenines,  with  a  pile  of  white  and  purple  grapes  beside 
him,  the  like  of  which  can  scarcely  be  had  in  America  for 
love  or  money,  and  which  had  been  given  him  by  a  dark¬ 
eyed  peasant  girl?  If  so,  he  may  envy  us,  for  such  was 
exactly  our  situation  on  the  morning  before  reaching  Flo¬ 
rence. 

Being  in  the  Duomo,  two  or  three  days  ago,  I  met  a  Ger¬ 
man  traveller,  who  has  walked  through  Italy  thus  far,  and 
intends  continuing  his  journey  to  Rome  and  Naples.  His 


THE  DOME  OF  THE  DUOMO. 


375 


name  was  Von  Haumer.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
present  state  of  America,  and  I  derived  much  pleasure  from 
his  intelligent  conversation.  We  concluded  to  ascend  the 
cupola  in  company.  Two  black-robed  boys  led  the  way; 
after  climbing  an  infinite  number  of  steps,  we  reached  the 
gallery  around  the  foot  of  the  dome.  The  glorious  view  of 
that  paradise,  the  vale  of  the  Arno,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by 
mountains,  some  bare  and  desolate,  some  covered  with  villas, 
gardens,  and  groves,  lay  in  soft,  hazy  light,  with  the  sha¬ 
dows  of  scattered  clouds  moving  slowly  across  it.  They 
next  took  us  to  a  gallery  on  the  inside  of  the  dome,  where 
we  first  saw  the  immensity  of  its  structure.  Only  from  a 
distant  view,  or  in  ascending  it,  can  one  really  measure  its 
grandeur.  The  frescoes,  which  from  below  appear  the  size 
of  life,  are  found  to  be  rough  and  monstrous  daubs ;  each 
figure  being  nearly  as  many  fathoms  in  length  as  man  is 
feet.  Continuing  our  ascent,  we  mounted  between  the  in¬ 
side  and  outside  shells  of  the  dome.  It  was  indeed  a  bold 
idea  for  Brunelleschi  to  raise  such  a  mass  in  air.  The  dome 
of  St.  Peter’s,  which  is  scarcely  as  large,  was  not  made 
until  a  century  after,  and  this  was,  therefore,  the  first  attempt 
at  raising  one  on  so  grand  a  scale. 

There  was  a  small  door  in  one  of  the  projections  of  the 
lantern,  which  the  sacristan  told  us  to  enter  and  ascend  still 
higher.  Supposing  there  was  a  fine  view  to  he  gained,  two 
priests,  who  had  just  come  up,  entered  it ;  the  German  fol¬ 
lowed,  and  I  after  him.  After  crawling  in  at  the  low  door, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a  hollow  pillar,  little  wider  than  our 
bodies.  Looking  up,  I  saw  the  German’s  Jegs  just  above 
my  head,  while  the  other  two  were  above  him,  ascending  by 


376 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


means  of  little  iron  bars  fastened  in  the  marble  The  priests 
were  very  much  amused,  and  the  German  said  : — “  This  is 
the  first  time  I  ever  learned  chimney-sweeping  !”  We 
emerged  at  length  into  a  hollow  cone,  hot  and  dark,  with  a 
rickety  ladder  going  up  somewhere  ;  we  could  not  see  where. 
The  old  priest  not  wishing  to  trust  himself  to  it,  sent  his 
younger  brother  up,  and  we  shouted  after  him  : — “  What 
kind  of  a  view  have  you  V*  He  climbed  up  until  the  cone 
got  so  narrow  that  he  could  go  no  further,  and  answered 
back  in  the  darkness  : — “I  see  nothing  at  all!”  Shortly 
after  he  came  down,  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs,  and  we 
all  descended  the  chimney  quicker  than  we  went  up.  The 
old  priest  considered  it  a  good  joke,  and  laughed  till  his  fat 
sides  shook.  We  asked  the  sacristan  why  he  sent  us  up, 
and  he  answered  : — “  To  see  the  construction  of  the  Church  ! ” 

I  attended  service  in  the  Cathedral  one  dark,  rainy  morn- 

9 

ing,  and  was  never  before  so  deeply  impressed  with  the 
majesty  and  grandeur  of  the  mighty  edifice.  The  thick, 
cloudy  atmosphere  darkened  still  more  the  light  which  came 
through  the  stained  windows,  and  a  solemn  twilight  reigned 
in  the  long  aisles.  The  mighty  dome  sprang  far  aloft,  as  if 
it  inclosed  a  part  of  heaven,  for  the  light  that  struggled 
through  the  windows  around  its  base,  lay  in  broad  bars  on 
the  blue,  hazy  air.  I  should  not  have  been  surprised  at 
seeing  a  cloud  float  along  within  it.  The  lofty  burst  of  the 
organ  boomed  echoing  away  through  dome  and  nave,  with 
a  chiming,  metallic  vibration,  shaking  the  massive  pillars 
which  it  would  defy  an  earthquake  to  rend.  All  was  wrap¬ 
ped  in  dusky  obscurity,  except  where,  in  the  side-chapels, 
crowns  of  tapers  were  burning  around  the  images.  One 


THE  COLOSSUS  OF  THE  APPENINES. 


377 


knows  not  which  most  to  admire,  the  genius  which  could 
conceive,  or  the  perseverance  which  could  accomplish  such 
a  work.  On  one  side  of  the  square,  the  colossal  statue  of 
the  architect,  glorious  old  Brunelleschi,  is  most  appropriately 
placed,  looking  up  with  pride  at  his  performance. 

We  lately  made  an  excursion  to  Pratolino,  on  the  Appe- 
nines,  to  see  the  vintage  and  the  celebrated  colossus,  by 
John  of  Bologna.  Leaving  Florence  in  the  mornings  with 
a  cool,  fresh  wind  blowing  down  from  the  mountains,  we 
began  ascending  by  the  road  to  Bologna.  We  passed  Fiesole 
with  its  tower  and  acropolis  on  the  right,  ascending  slowly, 
with  the  bold  peak  of  one  of  the  loftiest  Appenines  on  our 
left.  The  abundant  fruit  of  the  olive  was  beginning  to  turn 
brown,  and  the  grapes  were  all  gathered  in  from  the  vine¬ 
yards,  but  we  learned  from  a  peasant-boy  that  the  vintage 
was  not  finished  at  Pratolino. 

We  finally  arrived  at  an  avenue  shaded  with  sycamores, 
leading  to  the  royal  park.  The  vintagers  were  busy  in  the 
fields  around,  unloading  the  vines  of  their  purple  tribute, 
and  many  a  laugh  and  jest  among  the  merry  peasants  en¬ 
livened  the  toil.  We  assisted  them  in  disposing  of  some  fine 
clusters,  and  then  sought  the  “  Colossus  of  the  Appenines. ” 
He  stands  above  a  little  lake,  at  the  head  of  a  long  moun¬ 
tain-slope,  broken  with  clumps  of  magnificent  trees.  This 
remarkable  figure,  the  work  of  John  of  Bologna,  impresses 
one  like  a  relic  of  the  Titans.  He  is  represented  as  half¬ 
kneeling,  supporting  himself  with  one  hand,  while  the  other 
is  pressed  upon  the  head  of  a  dolphin,  from  which  a  little 
stream  falls  into  the  lake.  The  height  of  the  figure,  when 
erect,  would  amount  to  more  than  sixty  feet !  We  measured 


378 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


one  of  the  feet,  which  is  a  single  piece  of  rock,  about  eight  feet 
long ;  from  the  ground  to  the  top  of  one  knee  is  nearly  twenty 
feet.  The  limbs  are  formed  of  pieces  of  stone,  joined  toge¬ 
ther,  and  the  body  of  stone  and  brick.  His  rough  hair  and 
eyebrows,  and  the  heard,  which  reaches  nearly  to  the  ground, 
are  formed  of  stalactites,  taken  from  caves,  and  fastened 
together  in  a  dripping  and  crusted  mass.  These  hung  also 
from  his  limbs  and  body,  and  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
Winter  in  his  mail  of  icicles.  By  climbing  up  the  rocks  at 
his  hack,  we  entered  his  body,  which  contains  a  small-sized 
room ;  it  was  even  possible  to  ascend  through  his  neck  and 
look  out  at  his  ear  !  The  face  is  in  keeping  with  the  figure 
— stern  and  grand,  and  the  architect  (one  can  hardly  say 
sculptor)  has  given  to  it  the  majestic  air  and  sublimity  of 
the  Appenines.  But  who  could  build  up  an  image  of  the  Alp  ? 

We  visited  the  factory  on  the  estate,  where  wine  and  oil 
are  made.  The  men  had  just  brought  in  a  cart-load  of  large 
wooden  vessels,  filled  with  grapes,  which  they  were  mashing 
with  heavy  wooden  pestles.  When  the  grapes  were  pretty 
well  reduced  to  pulp  and  juice,  they  emptied  them  into  an 
enormous  tun,  which  they  told  us  would  be  covered  air-tight, 
and  left  for  three  or  four  weeks,  after  which  the  wine  would 
be  drawn  off  at  the  bottom.  They  showed  us  also  a  great 
stone  mill  for  grinding  olives ;  this  estate  of  the  Grand 
Duke  produces  five  hundred  barrels  of  wine  and  a  hundred 
and  fifty  of  oil,  every  year.  The  former  article  is  the 
universal  beverage  of  the  laboring  classes  in  Italy,  or  I 
might  say,  of  all  classes ;  it  is,  however,  the  pure  blood  of 
the  grape,  and  although  used  in  such  quantities,  one  sees 
little  drunkenness — far  less  than  in  our  own  land. 


ITALIAN  MORALS. 


379 


Although  this  sweet  climate,  with  its  wealth  of  sunlight 
and  balmy  airs,  may  enchant  the  traveller  for  awhile  and 
make  him  wish  at  times  that  his  whole  life  might  be  spent 
amid  such  scenes,  it  exercises  a  most  enervating  influence  on 
those  who  are  born  to  its  enjoyment.  It  relaxes  mental  and 
physical  energy,  and  disposes  body  and  mind  to  dreamy 
inactivity.  The  Italians,  as  a  race,  are  indolent  and  effemi¬ 
nate.  Of  the  moral  dignity  of  human  nature  they  have 
little  conception.  Those  classes  who  are  engaged  in  active 
occupation  seem  even  destitute  of  common  honesty,  practis¬ 
ing  all  kinds  of  deceits  in  the  most  open  manner  and  appa 
rently  without  the  least  shame.  The  state  of  morals  is  low¬ 
er  than  in  any  other  country  of  Europe  ;  what  little  virtue 
exists  is  found  among  the  peasants.  Many  of  the  most 
sacred  obligations  of  society  are  universally  violated,  and  as 
a  natural  consequence,  the  people  are  almost  entire  strangers 
to  that  domestic  happiness,  which  constitutes  the  true  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  life. 

This  dark  shadow  in  the  moral  atmosphere  of  Italy  hangs 
like  a  curse  on  her  beautiful  soil,  weakening  the  sympathies 
of  citizens  of  freer  lands  with  her  fallen  condition.  No 
people  can  ever  become  truly  great  or  free,  who  are  not 
virtuous.  If  the  soul  aspires  for  liberty — pure  and  perfect 
liberty — it  also  aspires  for  everything  that  is  noble  in  Truth, 
everything  that  is  holy  in  Virtue.  It  is  greatly  to  be  feared 
that  all  those  nervous  and  impatient  efforts  which  have  been 
made  and  are  still  being  made  by  the  Italian  people  to  bet- 
ter  their  condition,  will  be  of  little  avail,  until  they  set  up  a 
better  standard  of  personal  principle  and  improve  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  their  lives. 


380 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  attended  to-day  the  fall  races  at  the  Cascinc.  This  is  a 
dairy  farm  of  the  Grand  Duke  on  the  Arno,  below  the  city ; 
part  of  it,  shaded  with  magnificent  trees,  has  been  made  into 
a  public  promenade  and  drive,  which  extends  for  three  miles 
down  the  river.  Towards  the  lower  end,  on  a  smooth  green 
lawn,  is  the  race-course.  To-day  was  the  last  of  the  season, 
for  which  the  best  trials  had  been  reserved.  It  was  the  very 
perfection  of  autumn  temperature,  and  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  ever  seen  so  blue  hills,  so  green  meadows,  so  fresh 
air  and  so  bright  sunshine  combined  in  one  scene  before. 
Travelling  increases  very  much  one’s  capacity  for  admira¬ 
tion.  Every  beautiful  scene  appears  as  beautiful  as  if  it  had 
been  the  first ;  and  although  I  may  have  seen  a  hundred 
times  as  lovely  a  combination  of  sky  and  landscape,  the 
pleasure  which  it  awakens  is  never  diminished.  This  is  one 
of  the  greatest  blessings  we  enjoy — the  freshness  and  glory 
which  Nature  wears  to  our  eyes  for  ever.  It  shows  that  the 
soul  never  grows  old — that  the  eye  of  age  can  take  in  the 
impression  of  beauty  with  the  same  enthusiastic  joy  which 
leaped  through  the  heart  of  childhood. 

W e  found  the  crowd  around  the  race-course  but  thin ; 
half  the  people  there,  and  all  the  horses,  appeared  to  be 
English.  It  was  a  good  place  to  observe  the  beauty  of 
Florence,  which,  however,  may  be  seen  in  a  short  time,  as 
there  ismot  much  of  it.  There  is  beauty  in  Italy,  undoubt¬ 
edly,  but  it  is  either  among  the  peasants  or  the  higher  ranks 
of  the  nobility.  I  will  tell  our  American  women  confiden¬ 
tially,  for  I  know  they  have  too  much  sense  to  be  vain  of  it, 
that  they  surpass  the  rest  of  the  world  as  much  in  beauty  as 
they  do  in  intelligence  and  virtue.  I  saw  in  one  of  the 


RACES  AT  THE  CASCINE. 


381 


carriages  the  wife  of  Alexander  Dumas,  the  French  author. 
She  is  a  large,  fair-complexioned  woman,  and  is  now,  from 
what  cause  I  know  not,  living  apart  from  her  husband. 

The  jockeys  paced  up  and  down  the  fields,  preparing  their 
beautiful  animals  for  the  approaching  heat,  and  as  the  hour 
drew  nigh  the  mounted  dragoons  busied  themselves  in  clear¬ 
ing  the  space.  It  was  a  one-mile  course,  to  the  end  of  the 
lawn  and  back.  At  last  the  bugle  sounded,  and  off  went 
three  steeds  like  arrows  let  fly.  They  passed  us,  their  light 
limbs  bounding  over  the  turf,  a  beautiful  dark-brown  taking 
the  lead.  We  leaned  over  the  railing  and  watched  them 
eagerly.  The  bell  rang — they  reached  the  other  end — we 
saw  them  turn  and  come  dashing  back,  nearer,  nearer ;  the 
crowd  began  to  shout,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  brown  one 
had  won  it  by  four  or  five  lengths.  The  fortunate  horse  was 
led  around  in  triumph,  and  I  saw  an  English  lady,  remark¬ 
able  for  her  betting  propensities,  come  out  from  the  crowd 
and  kiss  it  in  apparent  delight. 

Florence  is  fast  becoming  modernized.  The  introduction 
of  gas,  and  the  construction  of  the  railroad  to  Pisa,  which  is 
nearly  completed,  will  make  sad  havoc  with  the  air  of  poe¬ 
try  which  still  lingers  in  its  silent  streets.  There  is  scarcely 
a  bridge,  a  tower,  or  a  street,  which  is  not  haunted  by  some 
stirring  association.  In  the  Via  San  Felice,  Raphael  used 
to  paint  when  a  boy ;  near  the  Ponte  Santa  Trinita  stands 
Michael  Angelo’s  house,  with  his  pictures,  clothes,  and  paint¬ 
ing  implements,  just  as  he  left  it  three  centuries  ago  ;  on  the 
south  side  of  the  Arno  is  the  house  of  Galileo,  and  that  of 
Machiavelli  stands  in  an  avenue  near  the  Ducal  Palace.  While 
threading  my  way  through  some  dark*  crooked  streets  in 


382 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


an  unfrequented  part  of  the  city,  I  noticed  an  old  untenant¬ 
ed  house,  bearing  a  marble  tablet  above  the  door.  I  drew 
near  and  read  : — “  In  this  house  of  the  Alighieri  was  born 
the  Divine  Poet !”  It  was  the  birth-place  of  Dante  ! 

We  lately  visited  the  Florentine  Museum.  Besides  the 
usual  collection  of  objects  of  natural  history,  there  is  an 
anatomical  cabinet,  very  celebrated  for  its  preparations  in 
wax.  All  parts  of  the  human  frame  are  represented  so 
wonderfully  exact;  that  students  of  medicine  pursue  their 
studies  here  in  summer  with  the  same  facility  as  from  real 
subjects.  Every  bone,  muscle,  and  nerve  in  the  body  is 
perfectly  counterfeited,  the  whole  forming  a  collection  as 
curious  as  it  is  useful.  One  chamber  is  occupied  with  repre¬ 
sentations  of  the  plague  in  Rome,  Milan,  and  Florence. 
They  are  executed  with  horrible  truth  to  nature,  but  I  re¬ 
gretted  afterwards  having  seen  them.  There  are  enough 
forms  of  beauty  and  delight  in  the  world  on  which  to  em¬ 
ploy  the  eye,  without  making  it  familiar  with  scenes  which 
can  only  be  remembered  with  a  shudder. 

We  derive  much  pleasure  from  the  society  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  artists  who  are  now  residing  in  Florence.  At  the 

houses  of  Powers,  and  Brown,  the  painter,  we  spend  many 

% 

delightful  evenings  in  the  company  of  our  gifted  country¬ 
men.  They  are  drawn  together  by  a  kindred,  social  feeling, 
as  well  as  by  their  mutual  aims,  and  form  among  themselves 
a  society  so  unrestrained,  American-like,  that  the  traveller 
who  meets  them  forgets  his  exile  for  a  time.  These  no¬ 
ble  representatives  of  our  country,  all  of  whom  possess  the 
true,  inborn  spirit  of  republicanism,  have  made  the  Ame¬ 
rican  ,  name  known  and  respected  in  Florence.  Powers, 


AMERICAN  ARTISTS  IN  FLORENCE. 


383 


especially,  who  is  intimate  with  many  of  the  principal  Ita¬ 
lian  families,  is  universally  esteemed.  The  Grand  Duke  has 
more  than  once  visited  his  studio  and  expressed  the  highest 
admiration  of  his  talents. 

In  Florence,  and  indeed  through  all  Italy,  there  is  much 
reason  for  our  country  to  be  proud  of  the  high  stand  her 
artists  are  taking.  The  sons  of  our  rude  western  clime, 
brought  up  without  other  resources  than  their  own  genius 
and  energy,  now  fairly  rival  those,  who  from  their  cradle 
upwards  have  drawn  inspiration  and  ambition  from  the  glo¬ 
rious  masterpieces  of  the  old  painters  and  sculptors. 
Wherever  our  artists  are  known,  they  never  fail  to  create  a 
respect  for  American  talent,  and  to  dissipate  the  false  notions 
respecting  our  cultivation  and  refinement,  which  prevail  in 
Europe.  There  are  now  eight  or  ten  of  our  painters  and 
sculptors  in  Florence,  some  of  whom,  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
say,  take  the  very  first  rank  among  living  artists. 

I  have  been  greatly  delighted  with  the  Italian  landscapes 
of  Mr.  George  L.  Brown  ;  they  have  that  golden  mellow¬ 
ness  and  transparency  of  atmosphere  which  gives  such  a 
charm  to  the  real  scenes.  He  has  wooed  Nature  like  a 
lover,  and  she  has  not  withheld  her  favors.  Mr.  Kellogg,  who 
has  just  returned  from  the  Orient,  brought  with  him  a  rich 
harvest  of  studies,  which  he  is  now  maturing  on  the  canvas. 
His  sketches  are  of  great  interest  and  value,  and  their  re¬ 
sults  will  give  him  an  enviable  reputation.  Greenough,  who 
has  been  some  time  in  Germany,  returned  lately  to  his  stu¬ 
dio,  where  he  has  a  colossal  group  in  progress  for  the  por¬ 
tico  of  the  Capitol.  It  represents  a  backwoodsman  just 
triumphing  in  the  struggle  with  an  Indian,  and  promises  to 


384 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


be  a  very  powerful  and  successful  work.  Mr.  Ives,  a  young 
sculptor  from  Connecticut,  has  just  completed  the  clay 
models  of  two  works — a  boy  with  a  dead  bird,  charmingly 
simple  and  natural,  and  a  head  of  Jephthalfs  Daughter. 
There  are  several*  other  young  countrymen  here,  just  com¬ 
mencing  their  studies,  who  show  all  that  enthusiasm  and  ex¬ 
travagance,  without  which  there  is  no  success  in  Art. 

Mr.  Mozier,  an  American  gentleman,  who  has  been  resid¬ 
ing  here  for  some  time  with  his  family,  recently  took  a  piece 
of  clay  for  pastime,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  his  friends, 
has  now  nearly  completed  an  admirable  bust  of  his  little 
daughter.  He  has  been  so  successful  that  he  intends  devot¬ 
ing  himself  to  the  art — a  devotion  so  rare,  that  it  must  surely 
meet  with  some  return. 

Would  it  not  be  better  for  some  scores  of  our  nch  mer¬ 
chants  to  lay  out  their  money  on  statues  and  pictures, 
*  instead  of  balls  and  spendthrift  sons  ?  A  few  such  expendi¬ 
tures,  properly  directed,  would  do  much  for  the  advancement 
of  the  fine  arts.  An  occasional  golden  blessing,  bestowed 
on  genius,  might  be  returned  to  the  giver,  in  the  fame  he  had 
assisted  in  creating.  There  seems,  however,  to  be  at  pres¬ 
ent  a  rapid  increase  in  refined  taste,  and  a  better  apprecia¬ 
tion  of  artistic  talent  in  our  country.  And  as  an  American, 
nothing  has  made  me  feel  prouder  than  this,  and  the  steadily 
increasing  reputation  of  our  artists. 

Of  these,  no  one  has  done  more  within  the  last  few  years, 
than  Powers.  With  a  tireless  and  persevering  energy,  such 
as  could  have  belonged  to  few  but  Americans,  he  has  al¬ 
ready  gained  an  imperishable  name  in  his  art.  I  cannot  de¬ 
scribe  the  enjoyment  I  have  derived  from  looking  at  his 


385 


THE  “  EVE  ”  OF  POWERS. 

matchless  works.  I  should  hesitate  in  giving  my  own  im- 
perfect  judgment  of  their  excellence,  if  I  had  not  found  it 
to  coincide  with  that  of  many  others  who  are  better  versed 
in  the  rules  of  art.  When  I  read  a  notice  seven  or  eight 
years  ago,  of  the  young  sculptor  of  Cincinnati,  'whose  busts 
exhibited  so  much  evidence  of  genius,  I  little  dreamed  that 
I  should  meet  him  in  Florence,  with  the  experience  of  years 
of  toil  added  to  his  early  enthusiasm,  and  every  day  increas¬ 
ing  his  renown. 

The  statue  of  Eve  is  in  my  opinion  one  of  the  finest  works 
of  modern  times.  So  completely  did  the  first  view  excite  my 
surprise  and  delight,  and  thrill  every  feeling  that  awakes  at  the 
sight  of  the  Beautiful,  that  my  mind  dwelt  intensely  on  it  for 
days  afterwards.  This  is  the  Eve  of  Scripture — the  Eve  of 
Milton — mother  of  mankind  and  fairest  of  all  her  race. 
With  the  full  and  majestic  beauty  of  ripened  womanhood, 
she  wears  the  purity  of  a  world  as  yet  unknowrn  to  sin. 
With  the  bearing  of  a  queen,  there  is  in  her  countenance  the 
softness  and  grace  of  a  tender,  loving  woman.: 

"  God-like  erect,  with  native  honor  clad 
In  naked  majesty.’* 

She  holds  the  fatal  fruit  extended  in  her  hand,  and  her  face 
expresses  the  struggle  between  conscience,  dread,  and  desire. 
The  serpent,  whose  coiled  length  under  the  leaves  and 
flowers  entirely  surrounds  her,  thus  forming  a  beautiful 
allegorical  symbol,  is  watching  her  decision  from  an  ivied 
trunk  at  her  side. 

Powers  has  now  nearly  finished  an  exquisite  figure  of  a 

fislier-boy,  standing  on  the  shore,  with  his  net  and  rudder  in 

17 


380 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  holds  a  shell  to  his  ear, 
and  listens  if  it  murmur  to  him  of  a  gathering  storm.  His 
slight,  boyish  limbs  are  full  of  grace  and  delicacy — you  feel 
that  the  youthful  frame  could  grow  up  into  nothing  less  than 
an  Apollo.  Then  the  head — how  beautiful !  Slightly  beni 
on  one  side,  with  the  rim  of  the  shell  thrust  under  his  locks, 
lips  gently  parted,  and  the  face  wrought  up  to  the  most 
hushed  and  breathless  expression,  he  listens  whether  the 
sound  be  deeper  than  its  wont.  It  makes  you  hold  your 
breath  and  listen,  to  look  at  it.  Mrs.  Jameson  somewhere 
remarks,  that  repose  or  suspended  motion  should  be  always 
chosen  for  a  statue  that  shall  present  a  perfect,  unbroken 
impression  to  the  mind.  If  this  be  true,  the  enjoyment  must 
be  much  more  complete  where  not  only  the  motion,  but 
breath  and  thought  are  suspended,  and  all  the  faculties  are 
wrought  into  one  hushed  and  intense  sensation.  In  gazing 
on  this  exquisite  conception,  I  feel  my  admiration  filled  to 
the  utmost,  without  that  painful,  aching  impression,  so  often 
left  by  beautiful  works.  It  glides  into  my  vision  like  a  form 
long  missed  from  the  gallery  of  beauty  I  am  forming  in  my 
mind,  and  I  gaze  on  it  with  an  ever  new  and  increasing 
delight. 

The  other  day  I  saw  Ibrahim  Pacha,  the  son  of  old  Me- 
hemet  Ali,  driving  in  his  carriage  through  the  streets.  He 
is  here  on  a  visit  from  Lucca,  where  he  has  been  spending 
some  time  on  account  of  his  health.  He  is  a  man  of  ap¬ 
parently  fifty  years  of  age  ;  his  countenance  wears  a  stern 
and  almost  savage  look,  very  consistent  with  the  character 
he  bears  and  the  political  part  he  has  played.  He  is  rather 
portly  in  person,  the  pale  olive  of  his  complexion  contrasting 


Galileo’s  tower. 


387 


strongly  with  a  beard  perfectly  white.  In  common  with  all 
his  attendants,  he  wears  the  high  red  cap,  picturesque  blue 
jacket,  and  full  trowsers  of  the  Egyptians.  There  is 
scarcely  a  man  of  them  whose  face  with  its  wild,  oriental 
beauty,  does  not  show  to  advantage  among  us  civilized  and 
prosaic  Christians. 


December  19,  1845. 

I  took  a  walk  lately  to  the  tower  of  Galileo.  In  company 
with  three  friends,  I  left  Florence  by  the  Porta  Romana ,  and 
ascended  the  Poggie  lmperiale.  This  beautiful  avenue,  a 
mile  and  a  quarter  in  length,  leading  up  a  gradual  ascent  to 
a  villa  of  the  Grand  Duke,  is  bordered  with  splendid 
cypresses  and  evergreen  oaks,  and  the  grass  banks  are 
always  fresh  and  green,  so  that  even  in  winter  it  calls  up  a 
remembrance  of  summer.  In  fact,  Winter  does  not  wear  the 
scowl  here  that  he  has  at  home ;  he  is  robed  rather  in  a 
threadbare  garment  of  autumn,  and  it  is  only  high  up  on  the 
mountain  tops,  out  of  the  reach  of  his  enemy,  the  sun,  that 
he  dares  to  throw  it  off,  and  bluster  about  with  his  storms 
and  scatter  down  his  snow-flakes.  The  roses  still  bud  and 
bloom  in  the  hedges,  the  emerald  of  the  meadows  is  not  a 
whit  paler,  the  sun  looks  down  lovingly  as  yet,  and  there 
are  only  the  white  helmets  of  some  of  the  Appenines,  with 
the  leafless  mulberries  and  vines,  to  tell  us  that  we  have 
changed  seasons. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour’s  walk,  part  of  it  by  a  path  through 
an  olive  orchard,  brought  us  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  which  was 
surmounted  by  a  square,  broken,  ivied  tower,  forming  part  of 


388 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


a  storehouse  for  the  produce  of  the  estate.  We  entered, 
saluted  by  a  dog,  and  passing  through  a  court-yard,  in  which 
stood  two  or  three  carts  full  of  brown  olives,  found  our  way 
to  the  rickety  staircase.  I  spared  my  sentiment  in  going 
up,  thinking  the  steps  might  have  been  renewed  since  Ga¬ 
lileo’s  time,  but  the  glorious  landscape  which  opened  around 
us  when  we  reached  the  top,  time  could  not  change,  and  I 
gazed  upon  it  with  interest  and  emotion,  as  my  eye  took  in 
those  forms  which  had  once  been  mirrored  in  the  philosopher’s. 

Our  Tuscan  life  is  at  last  at  an  end.  After  a  residence  of 
nearly  four  months,  we  shall  take  leave  of  beautiful  Florence 
to-morrow.  Our  departure  has  been  somewhat  delayed  by 
the  necessity  of  waiting  for  remittances  from  home.  By  the 
first  of  November,  our  means  were  entirely  exhausted,  but 
our  friend,  Mr.  Tandy,  generously  shared  his  purse  with  us 
until  the  long-expected  letters  arrived.  Finally,  I  received 
a  draft  for  one  hundred  dollars,  sixty  of  which  were  due  to 
Mr.  T.,  who,  in  his  turn,  was  beginning  to  look  anxiously 
for  remittances,  and  had  stinted  himself  for  our  sakes. 

B - was  out  of  money,  and  does  not  expect  to  get  any 

more  until  we  reach  Paris,  so  that  we  had  only  forty  dollars 
between  us,  for  the  journey  to  Rome  and  thence  to  Paris. 
We  had  already  pushed  economy  to  its  furthest  point,  and 
it  was  evident  that  the  thing  was  impossible.  But  it  was 

i 

equally  impossible  to  give  up  our  plan  of  travel.  I  finally 
went  to  Mr.  Powers,  who  has  treated  me  with  the  greatest 
kindness  and  hospitality  during  our  residence  here,  and 
asked  him  to  lend  me  fifty  dollars  for  two  or  three  months. 
He  complied  with  a  readiness  and  cordiality  which  was  most 
grateful,  and  relieved  me  of  the  painful  embarrassment 


AX  AMUSING  EXPERIENCE. 


389 


\ 


which  I  could  not  help  feeling.  We  have  now  ninety 
dollars,  which  we  are  confident  will  carry  us  through.  But 
Greece — Greece  is  lost  to  us  !  Oh  for  a  hundred  dollars, 
that  I  might  see  the  Parthenon  before  I  die  ! 

My  residence  in  Florence  has  been  thoroughly  happy  and 
delightful,  and  I  leave  it  with  sincere  regret.  These  priva¬ 
tions,  and  anxieties,  and  embarrassments,  are  forgotten  the 
moment  they  are  over,  while  the  memory  of  pleasure  re¬ 
mains  as  distinct  as  the  reality.  I  know  I  shall  hereafter 

\ 

find  even  a  delight  in  thinking  of  the  hardest  of  my 
experiences ;  one  of  them  is  already  sufficiently  amusing, 
and  may  amuse  the  reader  also.  Mr.  Tandy,  as  I  said, 
shared  his  own  means  with  us,  after  our  own  had  failed, 
until  what  he  had  in  Florence  was  nearly  exhausted.  His 
banker  lived  in  Leghorn,  and  he  determined  to  go  there  and 
draw  for  more,  instead  of  having  it  sent  through  a  corres¬ 
pondent.  B - decided  to  accompany  him,  and  two  young 

Englishmen,  who  had  just  arrived  on  foot  from  Geneva, 
joined  the  party.  They  resolved  on  making  an  adventure 
out  of  the  expedition,  and  it  was  accordingly  agreed  that 
they  should  take  one  of  the  market-boats  of  the  Arno,  and 
sail  down  to  Pisa,  more  than  fifty  miles  distant,  by  the 
river.  We  paid  one  or  two  visits  to  the  western  gate  of  the 
city,  where  numbers  of  these  craft  always  lie  at  anchor,  and 
struck  a  bargain  with  a  sturdy  boatman,  that  he  should  take 
them  for  a  scudo  each. 

The  hour  of  starting  was  nine  o’clock  in  the  evening,  and 
I  accompanied  them  to  the  starting-place.  The  boat  had  a 
slight  canvas  covering,  and  the  crew  consisted  only  of  the 
owner  and  his  son  Antonio,  a  boy  of  ten.  I  shall  not  recount 


390 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


their  voyage  all  that  night  (which  was  so  cold,  that  they  tied 
each  other  up  in  the  boatmen’s  meal-bags,  around  the  neck, 
and  lay  down  in  a  heap  on  the  ribbed  bottom  of  the  boat), 
nor  their  adventures  in  Pisa  and  Leghorn.  They  were  to  be 
absent  three  or  four  days,  and  had  left  me  money  enough  to 
live  upon  in  the  meantime,  but  the  next  morning  our  bill  for 
washing  came  in,  and  consumed  nearly  the  whole  of  it.  I 
had  about  four  crazie  (three  cents)  a  day  left  for  my  meals, 
and  by  spending  one  of  these  for  bread,  and  the  remainder 
for  ripe  figs,  of  which  one  crazie  will  purchase  fifteen  or 
twenty,  and  roasted  chestnuts,  I  managed  to  make  a  diminu¬ 
tive  breakfast  and  dinner,  but  was  careful  not  to  take  much 
exercise,  on  account  of  the  increase  of  hunger.  As  it  hap¬ 
pened,  my  friends  remained  two  days  longer  than  I  had  ex¬ 
pected,  and  the  last  two  crazie  I  had  were  expended  for  one 
day’s  provisions.  I  then  decided  to  try  the  next  day  with¬ 
out  anything,  and  actually  felt  a  curiosity  to  know  what 
one’s  sensations  would  be,  on  experiencing  two  or  three  days 
of  starvation.  I  knew  that  if  the  feeling  should  become  insup¬ 
portable,  I  could  easily  walk  out  to  the  mountain  of  Fiesole, 
where  a  fine  fig  orchard  shades  the  old  Roman  amphitheatre. 
But  the  experiment  was  broken  off  in  its  commencement,  by 
the  arrival  of  the  absent  ones,  in  the  middle  of  the  following 
night.  Such  is  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  that  on  find¬ 
ing  I  should  not  want  for  breakfast,  I  arose  from  bed,  and 

ate  the  two  or  three  remaining  figs  which,  by  a  strong  exer- 

• 

tion,  I  had  saved  from  the  scanty  allowance  of  the  day.  I 
began  to  experience  a  powerful  feeling  of  weakness  and 
vacuity,  and  my  breakfast  the  next  day — the  most  delicious 
meal  I  ever  ate — cost  me  at  least  ten  cents 


301 


ASCENT  OF  MONTE  MORELLO- 

\ 

V 

Whoever  looks  on  the  valley  of  the  Arno  from  San  Miitiato, 
and  observes  the  Appenine  range,  of  which  Fiesole  is  one, 
bounding  it  on  the  north,  will  immediately  notice  to  the 
northwest  a  double  peak  rising  high  above  all  the  others. 
The  bare,  brown  forehead  of  this,  known  by  the  name  of 
Monte  Morello ,  seemed  so  provokingly  to  challenge  an 
ascent,  that  we  determined  to  try  it.  So  we  started  early, 
a  few  days  ago,  from  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  with  nothing  but 
the  frosty  grass  and  fresh  air  to  remind  us  of  the  middle  of 
December.  Leaving  the  Prato  road,  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  we  passed  Careggi,  a  favorite  farm  of  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  and  entered  a  narrow  glen  where  a  little  brook 
was  brawling  down  its  rocky  channel.  Here  and  there  stood 
a  rustic  mill,  near  which  women  were  busy  spreading  their 
washed  clothes  on  the  grass.  Following  the  footpath,  we 
ascended  a  long  eminence  to  a  chapel  where  some  boys  were 
amusing  themselves  with  a  common  country  game.  They 
have  a  small  wheel,  around  which  they  wind  a  rope,  and, 
running  a  little  distance  to  increase  the  velocity,  let  it  off  with 
a  sudden  jerk.  On  a  level  road  it  can  be  thrown  upwards  of 
a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

From  the  chapel,  a  gradual  ascent  along  the  ridge  of  a 
hill  brought  us  to  the  foot  of  the  peak,  which  rose  high  be¬ 
fore  us,  covered  with  bare  rocks  and  stunted  oaks.  The 
wind  blew  coldly  from  a  snowy  range  to  the  north,  as  we 
commenced  ascending  with  a  good  will.  A  few  shepherds 
were  leading  their  flocks  along  the  sides,  to  browse  on  the 
grass  and  withered  bushes,  and  we  started  up  a  large  hare 
occasionally  from  his  leafy  covert.  The  ascent  was  very 
toilsome ;  I  was  obliged  to  stop  frequently  on  account  of  the 


392 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


painful  throbbing  of  my  heart,  which  made  it  difficult  to 
breathe.  When  the  summit  was  gained,  we  lay  down  awhile 
on  the  leeward  side  to  cover  ourselves. 

We  looked  on  the  great  valley  of  the  Arno,  perhaps 
twenty-five  miles  long,  and  five  or  six  broad,  lying  like  a 
long  elliptical  basin  sunk  among  the  hills.  I  can  liken  it  to 
nothing  but  a  vast  sea ;  for  a  dense,  blue  mist  covered  the 
level  surface,  through  which  the  domes  of  Florence  rose  up 
like  a  crag^v  island,  while  the  thousands  of  scattered  villas 
resembled  ships,  with  spread  sails,  afloat  on  its  surface.  The 
sharp,  cutting  wind  soon  drove  us  down,  with  a  few  hundred 
bounds,  to  the  path  again.  Three  more  hungry  mortals  did 
not  dine  at  the  C  .cciatore  that  day. 

The  chapel  of  the  Medici,  which  we  visited,  is  of  wonder¬ 
ful  beauty.  The  walls  are  entirely  encrusted  with  pielra 
dura  and  the  most  precious  kinds  of  marble.  The  ceiling  is 
covered  with  gorgeous  frescoes  by  Benevenuto,  a  modern 
painter.  Around  the  sides,  in  magnificent  sarcophagi  of 
marble  and  jasper,  repose  the  ashes  of  a  few  Cosmos  and 
Ferdinands.  I  asked  the  sacristan  for  the  tomb  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent.  “  Oh  !”  said  he,  “lie  lived  during  the  Re¬ 
public — he  has  no  tomb;  these  are  only  for  Dukes !”  I 
could  not  repress  a  sigh  at  the  lavish  waste  of  labor  and 
treasure  on  this  one  princely  chapel.  They  might  have 
slumbered  unnoted,  like  Lorenzo,  if  they  had  done  as  much 
for  their  country  and  Italy. 


It  is  with  a  heavy  heart,  that  I  sit  down  to-night  to  make 
my  closing  note  in  this  lovely  city  and  in  the  journal  which 


A  FAREWELL  MEDITATION. 


393 


has  recorded  my  thoughts  and  impressions  since  leaving 
America.  I  should  find  it  difficult  to  analyse  my  emotions, 
but  I  know  that  they  oppress  me  painfully.  So  much  rushes 
at  once  over  the  mind  and  heart — memories  of  what  has 
passed  through  both,  since  I  made  the  first  note  in  its  pages 
— alternations  of  hope  and  anxiety  and  aspiration,  but  never 
despondency — that  it  resembles,  in  a  manner,  the  closing  of  a 
life.  I  seem  almost  to  have  lived  through  the  common  term 
of  a  life  in  this  short  period.  Much  spiritual  and  mental  ex¬ 
perience  has  crowded  into  a  short  time  the  sensations  of 
years.  Painful  though  some  of  it  has  been,  it  was  still  wel¬ 
come.  Difficulty  and  toil  give  the  soul  strength  to  crush,  in 
a  loftier  region,  the  passions  which  draw  strength  only  from 
the  earth.  So  long  as  we  listen  to  the  purer  promptings 
within  us,  there  is  a  Power  invisible,  though  not  unfelt,  which 
protects  us — amid  the  toil  and  tumult  and  soiling  struggle, 
there  is  ever  an  eye  that  watches,  ever  a  heart  that  over¬ 
flows  with  Infinite  and  Almighty  Love  !  Let  us  trust  then 
in  that  Eternal  Spirit,  who  pours  out  on  us  his  warm  and 
boundless  blessings,  through  the  channels  of  so  many  kin¬ 
dred  human  hearts ! 


17* 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


WINTER  TRAVELLING  AMONG  THE  APPENINES. 


Departure  from  Florence — Rain  among  the  Appenines — The  Inn  at  Cucina — Talks 
with  the  Tuscan  Peasants — Central  Italy — Arezzo — Italian  Country  Inns — Engaging 
a  Calesino — Lake  Thrasymene — The  Battle-field — Night-Ride  to  Perugia — Journey 
to  Foligno — Vale  of  the  Clitumnus — Our  Fellow  Passengers — Spoleto  and  Monte 
Somma — Terni  without  the  Cascade — Narni — Otricoli — Travelling  by  Vetturino — 
Soracte  at  Sunset — Walking  with  the  Dragoon — The  Campagna — First  Sight  of  St. 
Peter’s  —  Entering  Rome — The  Pantheon  by  Starlight — The  Dragoon’s  Adieu — 
Rome. 


Rome,  December  28,  1845. 

We  left  Florence  on  the  20th,  while  citizens  and  strangers 
were  vainly  striving  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Emperor  of 
Russia.  He  is,  from  some  cause,  very  shy  of  being  seen,  in 
his  journeys  from  place  to  place,  using  the  greatest  art  and 
diligence  to  prevent  the  time  of  his  departure  and  arrival 
from  being  known.  I  waited  some  time  in  front  of  his  hotel 
to  see  him  drive  out,  and  at  that  very  time  he  was  in  the 
Pitti  Palace,  with  the  Grand  Duke.  The  sky  did  not  pro¬ 
mise  much,  as  we  set  out ;  and  when  we  had  entered  the 
Appenines  and  taken  a  last  look  at  the  lovely  valley  behind 
us,  and  the  great  dome  of  the  city  where  we  had  spent  four 


THE  INN  AT  CUCINA. 


395 


delightful  months,  it  began  to  rain  heavily.  Determined  to 
conquer  the  weather  at  the  beginning,  we  kept  on,  although 
before  many  miles  were  passed,  it  became  too  penetrating 
to  be  agreeable.  The  mountains  grew  nearly  black  under 
the  shadow  of  the  clouds,  and  the  storms  swept  drearily 
down  their  passes  and  defiles,  until  the  scenery  was  more  like 
the  Hartz  than  Italy.  We  were  obliged  to  stop  at  Ponte 
Sieve  and  dry  our  saturated  garments  :  when,  as  the  rain 
slackened  somewhat,  we  rounded  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
of  Vallombrosa,  above  the  swollen  and  noisy  Arno,  to  the 
little  village  of  Cucina. 

_  4 

We  entered  the  only  inn  in  the  place,  followed  by  a  crowd 
of  wondering  boys,  for  two  such  travellers  had  probably 

i 

never  been  seen  there.  They  made  a  blazing  fire  for  us  in 
the  broad  chimney,  and  after  the  police  of  the  place  had  satis¬ 
fied  themselves  that  we  were  not  dangerous  characters,  they 
asked  many  questions  about  our  country.  I  excited  the 
sympathy  of  the  women  greatly  in  our  behalf  by  telling 
them  we  had  three  thousand  miles  of  sea  between  us  and 
our  homes.  They  exclaimed  in  the  most  sympathizing 
tones  :  “  Povcrini  !  so  far  to  go  ! — three  thousand  miles  of 
water  !” 

The  next  morning  we  followed  the  right  bank  of  the  Arno. 
At  Incisa,  a  large  town  on  the  river,  the  narrow  pass  broad¬ 
ens  into  a  large  and  fertile  plain,  bordered  on  the  north  by 
the  mountains.  The  snow  storms  were  sweeping  around 
their  summits  the  whole  day,  and  I  thought  of  the  desolate 
situation  of  the  good  monks  who  had  so  hospitably  enter¬ 
tained  us  three  months  before.  It  was  weary  travelling ;  but 
at  Levane  our  fatigues  were  soon  forgotten.  Two  or  three 


30  G 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


peasants  were  sitting  at  night  beside  the  blazing  fire,  and  we 
were  amused  to  hear  them  talking  about  us.  I  overheard 
one  asking  another  to  converse  with  us  awhile.  “  Why 
should  I  speak  to  them  V’  said  he  ;  “  they  are  not  of  our 
profession — we  are  swineherds,  and  they  do  not  care  to  talk 
with  us.”  However,  his  curiosity  prevailed  at  last,  and  we 
had  a  long  conversation  together.  It  seemed  difficult  for 
them  to  comprehend  how  there  could  be  so  much  water  to 
cross,  without  any  land,  before  reaching  our  country.  Find¬ 
ing  we  were  going  to  Rome,  I  overheard  one  remark  that 
we  were  pilgrims,  which  seemed  to  be  the  general  supposition, 
as  there  are  few  foot-travellers  in  Italy.  The  people  said  to 
one  another  as  we  passed  along  the  road  : — “  They  are 
making  a  journey  of  penance  !”  These  peasants  expressed 
themselves  very  well  for  persons  of  their  station,  but  they 
were  remarkably  ignorant  of  every  thing  beyond  their  own 
olive  orchards  and  vine  fields. 

On  leaving  Levane,  the  morning  gave  a  promise,  and  the 
sun  winked  at  us  once  or  twice  through  the  broken  clouds, 
with  a  watery  eye  but  our  cup  was  not  yet  full.  After 
crossing  one  or  two  shoulders  of  the  range  of  hills,  we  de¬ 
scended  to  the  great  upland  plain  of  Central  Italy,  watered 
by  the  sources  of  the  Arno  and  the  Tiber.  The  scenery  is 
of  a  remarkable  character.  The  hills  appear  to  have  been 
washed  and  swept  by  some  mighty  flood.  They  are  worn 
into  every  shape — pyramids,  castles,  towers — standing  deso¬ 
late  and  brown,  in  long  ranges,  like  the  ruins  of  mountains. 

'  ' 

The  plain  is  scarred  with  deep  gullies,  adding  to  the  look  of 
decay  which  accords  so  well  with  the  Cyclopean  relics  of  the 
country.  A  storm  of  hail  which  rolled  away  before  us,  dig* 


ITALIAN  COUNTRY  INNS. 


397 


closed  the  city  of  Arezzo,  on  a  hill  at  the  other  end  of  the 
plain,  its  heavy  cathedral  crowning  the  pyramidal  mass  of 
buildings.  Our  first  care  was  to  find  a  good  trattoria,  for 
hunger  spoke  louder  then  sentiment,  and  then  we  sought 
the  house  where  Petrarch  was  born.  A  young  priest  show¬ 
ed  it  to  us  on  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  has  not  been 
changed  since  he  lived  in  it. 

On  leaving  Florence,  we  determined  to  pursue  the  same 
plan  as  in  Germany,  of  stopping  in  the  inns  frequented  by 
the  common  people.  They  treated  us  here,  as  elsewhere, 
with  great  kindness  and  sympathy,  and  we  were  freed  from 
the  outrageous  impositions  practised  at  the  greater  hotels. 
They  always  built  a  large  fire  to  dry  us,  after  our  day’s 
walk  in  the  rain,  and  placing  chairs  in  the  hearth,  which  was 
raised  several  feet  above  the  floor,  stationed  us  there,  like 
the  giants  Gog  and  Magog,  while  the  children,  assembled 
below,  gazed  up  at  our  elevated  greatness.  They  even 
invited  us  to  share  their  simple  meals  with  them,  and  it  was 
amusing  to  hear  their  good-hearted  exclamations  of  pity  at 
finding  we  were  so  far  from  home.  We  slept  in  the  great 
beds  (for  the  most  of  the  Italian  beds  are  calculated  for  a 
man,  wife,  and  four  children  !)  without  fear  of  being  assas¬ 
sinated,  and  only  met  with  banditti  in  dreams. 

This  is  a  very  unfavorable  time  of  the  year  for  foot-travel¬ 
ling,  as  we  found  before  the  close  of  the  third  day.  We 

% 

walked  until  noon  over  the  Val  di  Chiana  to  Camuscia,  the 
last  post-station  in  the  Tuscan  dominions.  On  a  mountain 
near  it  is  the  city  of  Cortona,  still  inclosed  within  its  Cyclo¬ 
pean  walls,  built  long  before  the  foundation  of  Rome.  Here 
our  patience  gave  way,  melted  down  by  the  unremitting 


398 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


rains,  and  while  eating  dinner  we  made  a  bargain  for  a 
vehicle  to  take  us  to  Perugia.  We  gave  a  little  more  than 
half  of  what  the  vetturino  demanded,  which  was  still  an 
exorbitant  price — two  scudi  each  for  a  ride  of  thirty  miles. 

In  a  short  time  we  were  called  to  take  our  seats.  I  be¬ 
held  with  consternation  a  rickety,  uncovered,  two-wheeled 
vehicle,  to  which  a  single  lean  horse  was  attached.  “  What !” 
said  I :  “  is  that  the  carriage  you  promised  ?  ”  “  You  bar¬ 

gained  for  a  calesino ,”  said  he,  “  and  there  it  is  !  ”  adding, 
moreover,  that  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  place.  So  we 
clambered  up,  thrust  our  feet  among  the  hay,  and  the 
machine  rolled  off  with  a  kind  of  saw-mill  motion,  at  the 
rate  of  five  miles  an  hour.  Soon  after,  in  ascending  the 
mountain  of  the  Spelunca,  a  sheet  of  blue  water  was  re¬ 
vealed  below  us — the  lake  of  Thrasymene  !  From  the  emi¬ 
nence  around  which  we  drove,  we  looked  on  the  whole  of 
its  broad  surface  and  the  mountains  which  encompass  it.  It 
is  a  magnificent  sheet  of  water,  in  size  and  shape  somewhat 
like  New  York  Bay.  While  our  calesino  was  stopped  at 
the  papal  custom-house,  I  gazed  on  the  memorable  field 
below  us.  A  crescent  plain,  between  the  mountain  and  the 
lake,  was  the  arena  where  two  mighty  empires  met  in  com¬ 
bat.  The  place  seems  marked  by  nature  for  the  scene  of 
some  great  event.  I  experienced  a  thrilling  emotion,  such 
as  no  battle  plain  has  excited,  since,  when  a  schoolboy,  I 
rambled  over  the  field  of  Brandywine.  I  looked  through 
the  long  arcades  of  patriarchal  olives,  and  tried  to  cover  the 
field  with  the  shadows  of  the  Roman  and  Carthaginian 
myriads.  I  recalled  the  shock  of  meeting  legions,  the  clash 
of  swords  and  bucklers,  and  the  waving  of  standards  amid 


A  NIGHT-RIDE  IN  THE  RAIN. 


309 


the  dust  of  battle,  while  stood  on  the  mountain  amphi¬ 
theatre,  trembling  and  invisible,  the  protecting  deities  of 
Rome. 

We  rode  over  the  plain,  passed  through  the  dark  old  town 
of  Passignano,  built  on  a  rocky  point  by  the  lake,  and 
dashed  along  the  shore.  A  dark,  stormy  sky  bent  over  us, 
and  the  roused  waves  broke  in  foam  on  the  rocks.  The 
winds  whistled  among  the  bare  oak  boughs,  and  shook  the 
olives  until  they  twinkled  all  over.  The  vetturino  whipped 
our  old  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  we  were  borne  on  in  unison 
with  the  scene,  which  would  have  answered  for  one  of  Hoff¬ 
man’s  wildest  stories. 

Ascending  a  long  hill,  we  took  a  last  look  in  the  dusk  at 
Thrasymene,  and  continued  our  journey  among  the  Ap- 
penines.  The  vetturino  was  to  have  changed  horses  at 
Magione,  thirteen  miles  from  Perugia,  but  there  were  none 
to  be  had,  and  our  poor  beast  was  obliged  to  perform  the 
whole  journey  without  rest  or  food.  It  grew  very  dark, 
and  a  storm,  with  thunder  and  lightning,  swept  among  the 
hills.  The  clouds  were  of  pitchy  darkness,  and  we  could 
see  nothing  beyond  the  road,  except  the  liglit£*of  peasant- 
cottages  trembling  through  the  gloom.  Now  and  then  a  flash 
of  lightning  revealed  the  black  masses  of  the  mountains,  on 
which  the  solid  sky  seemed  to  rest.  The  wind  and  cold  rain 
swept  wailing  past  us,  as  if  an  evil  spirit  were  abroad  on  the 
darkness.  Three  hours  of  such  nocturnal  travel  brought  us 
to  Perugia,  wet  and  chilly,  as  well  as  our  driver,  but  I  pitied 
the  poor  horse  more  than  him. 

When  we  looked  out  the  window,  on  awaking,  the 
clustered  house-tops  of  the  city,  and  the  summits  cf  the 


400 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


mountains  near,  were  covered  with  snow.  As  the  rain  com 
tinued,  we  left  for  Foligno  the  next  morning,  in  a  close  but 
covered  vehicle,  and  descending  the  mountain,  crossed  the 
muddy  and  rapid  Tiber  in  the  valley  below.  All  day  we 
rode  slowly  among  the  hills  ;  where  the  ascent  was  steep, 
two  or  four  large  oxen  were  hitched  before  the  horses.  1 
saw  little  of  the  scenery,  for  our  Italian  companions  would 
not  bear  the  windows  open.  Once,  when  we  stopped,  I  got 
out  and  found  we  were  in  the  region  of  snow,  at  the  foot  of 
a  stormy  peak,  which  towered  sublimely  above.  At  dusk, 
we  entered  Foligno,  and  were  driven  to  the  “  Croce  Bianca’' 
— glad  to  be  thirty  miles  further  on  our  way  to  Rome. 

After  some  discussion  with  a  vetturino,  who  was  to  leave 
next  morning,  we  made  a  contract  with  him  for  the  re¬ 
mainder  of  the  journey,  for  the  rain,  which  fell  in  torrents, 
forbade  all  thought  of  pedestrianism.  At  five  o’clock  we 
rattled  out  of  the  gate,  and  drove  by  the  waning  moon  and 
morning  starlight,  down  the  vale  of  the  Clitumnus  As  the 
dawn  stole  on  I  watched  eagerly  the  features  of  the  scene. 
Instead  of  a  narrow  glen,  as  my  fancy  had  pictured,  we 
were  in  a  vallev,  several  miles  broad,  covered  with  rich 
orchards  and  fertile  fields.  A  glorious  range  of  mountains 
bordered  it  on  the  north,  resembling  Alps  in  their  winter 
garments.  A  rosy  flush  stole  over  the  snow,  which  kindled 
with  the  growing  morn.  The  Clitumnus,  beside  us,  was  the 
purest  of  streams.  The  heavy  rains  which  had  fallen,  had 
not  soiled  in  the  least  its  limpid  crystal. 

When  it  grew  light  enough,  I  looked  at  our  companions 
for  the  three  days’  journey.  The  two  other  inside  seats 
were  occupied  by  a  tradesman  of  Trieste,  with  his  wife  and 


SPOLETO  AND  MONTE  SOMMA. 


401 


child  ;  an  old  soldier,  and  a  young  dragoon  going  to  visit  his 
parents  after  seven  years’  absence,  occupied  the  front  seat. 
Persons  travelling  together  in  a  carriage  are  not  long  in 
becoming  acquainted — close  companionship  soon  breeds 
familiarity.  Before  night,  I  had  made  a  fast  friend  of  the 
young  soldier,  learned  to  bear  the  perverse  humor  of  the 
child  with  as  much  patience  as  its  father,  and  even  drawn 
looks  of  grim  kindness  from  the  crusty  old  vetturino. 

Our  mid-day  resting-place  was  Spoleto.  As  there  were 
two  hours  given  us,  we  took  a  ramble  through  the  city, 
visited  the  ruins  of  its  Roman  theatre,  and  saw  the  gate 
erected  to  commemorate  the  victory  gained  here  over  Han¬ 
nibal,  which  stopped  his  triumphal  march  towards  Rome. 
A  great  part  of  the  afternoon  was  spent  in  ascending  the 
defiles  of  Monte  Somma,  the  highest  pass  on  the  road 
between  Ancona  and  Rome.  Assisted  by  two  yoke  of  oxen 
we  slowly  toiled  up  through  the  snow,  the  mountains  on 
both  sides  covered  with  thickets  of  box  and  evergreen  oaks, 
among  whose  leafy  screens  the  banditti  hide  themselves.  It 
is  not  considered  dangerous  at  present,  but  as  the  dragoons 
who  used  to  patrol  this  pass  have  been  sent  off  to  Bologna, 
to  keep  down  the  rebellion,  the  robbers  will  probably  return 
to  their  old  haunts  again.  We  saw  many  suspicious  looking 
coverts,  where  they  might  have  hidden 

We  slept  at  Terni  and  did  not  see  the  falls — not  exactly 
on  Wordsworth's  principle  of  leaving  Yarrow  un visited,  but 
because,  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  impossible.  The 
vetturino  did  not  arrive  there  until  after  dark ;  he  was  to 
leave  before  dawn;  the  distance  was  five  miles,  and  the 
roads  very  bad.  Besides,  we  had  seen  falls  quite  as  grand, 


402 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


which  needed  only  a  Byron  to  make  them  as  renowned — we 
had  been  told  that  those  of  Tivoli,  which  we  shall  see,  were 
equally  fine.  The  Yelino,  which  we  crossed  near  Terni, 
was  not  a  large  stream — in  short,  we  sought  as  many  reasons 
as  possible,  why  the  falls  need  not  be  seen. 

Leaving  Terni  before  day,  we  drove  up  the  long  vale 
towards  Narni.  The  roads  were  frozen  hard;  the  ascent 
becoming  more  difficult,  the  vetturino  was  obliged  to  stop  at 
a  farm-house  and  get  another  pair  of  horses,  with  which, 
and  a  handsome  young  contadino  as  postillion,  we  reached 
Narni  in  a  short  time.  In  climbing  the  hill,  we  had  a  view 
of  the  whole  valley  of  Terni,  shut  in  on  all  sides  by  snow- 
crested  Appenines,  and  threaded  by  the  Nar.  At  Otricoli, 
while  dinner  was  preparing,  I  walked  around  the  crumbling 
battlements  to  look  down  into  the  valley  and  trace  the  far 
windings  of  the  Tiber.  In  rambling  through  the  crooked 
streets,  we  saw  everywhere  the  remains  of  the  splendor 
which  this  place  boasted  in  the  days  of  Rome.  Fragments 
of  fluted  pillars  stood  here  and  there  in  the  streets  ;  large 
blocks  of  marble  covered  with  inscriptions  were  built  into 
the  houses,  defaced  statues  were  used  as  door-ornaments,  and 
the  stepping-stone  to  our  rude  inn,  worn  every  day  by  the  feet 
of  grooms  and  vetturini,  contained  some  letters  of  an  inscrip¬ 
tion  which  may  have  recorded  the  glory  of  an  emperor. 

Travelling  with  a  vetturino,  is  unquestionably  the  plea¬ 
santest  way  of  seeing  Italy.  The  easy  rate  of  the  journey 
allows  time  for  becoming  well  acquainted  with  the  country, 
and  the  tourist  is  freed  from  the  annoyance  of  quarrelling 
with  cheating  landlords.  A*  translation  of  our  written  con¬ 
tract  will  best  explain  this  mode  of  travelling  : 


S0RACTE  AT  SUNSET^  403 

“  Carriage  for  Home. 

i(  Our  contract  is,  to  be  conducted  to  Rome  for  the  sum  of  twenty 
francs  each,  say  20f.  and  the  buona  mano ,  if  we  are  well  served. 
We  must  have  from  the  vetturino,  Giuseppe  Nerpiti,  supper  each 
night,  a  free  chamber  with  two  beds,  and  fire,  until  we  shall  arrive 
at  Rome.  I,  Geronymo  Sartarelli,  steward  of  the  Inn  of  the  White 
Cross,  at  Foligno,  in  testimony  of  the  above  contract.” 

Beyond  Otricoli,  we  passed  through  some  relics  of  an  age 
anterior  to  Rome.  A  few  soiled  masses  of  masonry,  black 
with  age,  stood  along  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  on  the 
extremity  of  which  were  the  ruins  of  a  castle  of  the  middle 
ages.  We  crossed  the  Tiber  on  a  bridge  built  by  Augustus 
Caesar,  and  reached  Borghetto  as  th^  sun  was  gilding  with 
its  last  rays  the  ruined  citadel  above.  As  the  carriage  with 
its  four  horses  was  toiling  slowly  up  the  hill,  we  got  out  and 
walked  in  advance,  to  gaze  on  the  green  meadows  of  the 
Tiber. 

On  descending  from  Narni,  I  noticed  a  high,  prominent 
mountain,  whose  ridgy  back,  somewhat  like  the  profile  of  a 
face,  reminded  me  of  the  Traunstein,  in  Upper  Austria.  As 
we  approached,  its  form  gradually  changed,  until  it  stood  on 
the  Campagna 

“  Like  a  long-swept  wave  about  to  break, 

That  on  the  curl  hangs  pausing  ” — 

and  by  that  token  of  a  great  bard,  I  recognized  Monte  So- 
racte.  The  dragoon  took  us  by  the  arms,  and  away  we 
scampered  over  the  Campagna,  with  one  of  the  loveliest  sun¬ 
sets  before  us,  that  ever  painted  itself  on  my  retinue.  I  can- 


404  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

t 

not  portray  in  words  the  glory  that  flooded  the  whole  west¬ 
ern  heaven.  It  was  a  sea  of  melted  ruby,  amethyst  and 
topaz — deep,  dazzling,  and  of  crystal  transparency.  The 
color  changed  in  tone  every  few  minutes,  till  in  half  an 
hour  it  sank  away  before  the  twilight  to  a  belt  of  deep 
orange  along  the  west. 

We  left  Civita  Castellana  before  daylight.  The  sky  was 
red  with  dawn  as  we  approached  Nepi,  and  we  got  out  to 
walk  in  the  clear,  frosty  air.  The  dragoon,  who  had  become 
my  bosom  friend,  threw  one  arm  around  my  neck  and  gave 
me  half  of  his  thick  military  cloak,  and  thus,  muffled  up 
together,  we  walked  nearly  all  forenoon.  In  traversing  the 
desolate  Campagna,  we  saw  many  deep  chambers  dug  in 
the  earth,  used  by  the  charcoal  burners ;  the  air  was  filled 
with  sulphureous  exhalations,  very  offensive  to  the  smell, 
which  rose  from  the  ground  in  many  places.  Miles  and 
miles  of  the  dreary  waste,  covered  only  with  flocks  of  graz¬ 
ing  sheep,  were  passed, — and  about  noon  we  reached  Bac- 
cano,  a  small  post  station,  twenty  miles  from  Rome.  A  long 
hill  rose  before  us,  and  we  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and 
ran  ahead,  to  see  Rome  from  its  summit.  As  we  approached 
the  top,  the  Campagna  spread  far  before  and  around  us, 
level  and  blue  as  an  ocean.  I  climbed  up  a  high  bank  by 
the  roadside,  and  the  whole  scene  came  in  view.  Perhaps 
eighteen  miles  distant  rose  the  dome  of  St.  Peter’s  near  the 
horizon — a  small  spot  on  the  vast  plain.  Beyond  it  and 
further  east,  were  the  mountains  of  Albano — on  our  left 
Soracte  and  the  Apennines,  and  a  blue  line  along  the  west 
betrayed  the  Mediterranean.  There  was  nothing  peculiarly 
beautiful  or  sublime  in  the  landscape,  but  few  other  scenes 


ENTERING  ROME. 


405 


on  earth  combine  in  one  glance  such  a  myriad  of  mighty 
associations,  or  bewilder  the  mind  with  such  a  crowd  of  con¬ 
fused  emotions. 

As  we  approached  Rome,  my  dragoon  became  anxious  and 
impatient.  He  had  not  heard  from  his  parents  for  a  long 
time,  and  knew  not  if  they  were  living,  His  desire  to 
reach  the  end  of  his  journey  finally  became  so  great,  that 
he  hailed  a  peasant  who  was  driving  past  in  a  light  vehicle, 
left  our  slow  carriage  and  went  out  of  sight  in  a  gallop. 

As  we  descended  to  the  Tiber  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  the 
domes  and  spires  of  Rome  came  gradually  into  view,  St. 
Peter’s  standing  like  a  mountain  in  the  midst  of  them.  Cross¬ 
ing  the  yellow  river  by  the  Ponte  Molle,  two  miles  of  road, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  lay  before  us,  with  the  light  of  the 
Porta  del  Popolo  at  the  end.  I  felt  strangely  excited  as  the 
old  vehicle  rumbled  through  the  arch,  and  we  entered  a 
square  with  fountains  and  an  obelisk  of  Egyptian  granite  in 
the  centre.  Delivering  up  our  passports,  we  waited  until 
the  necessary  examinations  had  been  made,  and  then  went 
forward.  Three  streets  branch  out  from  the  square,  the 
middle  one  of  which,  leading  directly  to  the  Capitol,  is  the 
Corso,  the  Roman  Broadway.  Our  vetturino  chose  that  to 
the  left,  the  Via  della  Scrofa,  leading  off  towards  the  bridge 
of  St.  Angelo.  I  looked  out  the  windows  as  we  drove  along, 
but  saw  nothing  except  butcher-shops,  grocer-stores,  etc. — 
horrible  objects  for  a  sentimental  traveller ! 

Being  emptied  out  on  the  pavement  at  last,  our  first  care 
was  to  find  rooms  ;  after  searching  through  many  streets, 
with  a  coarse  old  Italian  who  spoke  like  an  angel,  we  ar¬ 
rived  at  a  square  where  the  music  of  a  fountain  was  heard 


406 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


through  the  dusk,  and  an  obelisk  cut  out  some  of  the  star¬ 
light.  At  the  other  end  I  saw  a  portico  through  the  dark¬ 
ness,  and  my  heart  gave  a  breathless  bound  on  recognising 
the  'Pantheon — the  matchless  temple  of  Ancient  Rome  !  And 
now  while  I  am  writing,  I  hear  the  gush  of  the  fountain — 
and  if  I  step  to  the  window,  I  see  the  time-worn  but  still 
glorious  edifice. 

On  returning  for  our  baggage,  we  met  the  funeral  proces¬ 
sion  of  the  Princess  Altieri.  Priests  in  white  and  gold  car¬ 
ried  flaming  torches,  and  the  coffin,  covered  with  a  magnifi¬ 
cent  golden  pall,  was  borne  in  a  splendid  hearse,  attended 
by  four  priests.  As  we  were  settling  our  account  with  the 
vetturino,  who  demanded  much  more  huona  mano  than  we 
were  willing  to  give,  the  young  dragoon  returned.  He  was 
greatly  agitated.  “  I  have  been  at  home !  ”  said  he,  in  a 
voice  trembling  with  emotion.  I  was  about  to  ask  him  fur¬ 
ther  concerning  his  family,  but  he  stopped  me  by  saying : 
u  I  have  only  come  to  say  ‘  addio  !’  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
again.”  He  then  threw  his  arms  around  me,  kissed  me 
twice,  said  “  addio  !  ”  with  an  unsteady  voice,  and  was  gone, 
I  almost  wish  we  had  not  met,  for  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  I  stop  writing  to  ramble  through  Rome.  This  city 
of  all  cities  to  me — this  dream  of  my  boyhood — giant,  god¬ 
like,  fallen  Rome — is  around  me,  and  I  revel  in  a  glow  of 
anticipation  and  exciting  thought  that  seems  to  change  my 
whole  state  of  being. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


ROME. 

The  First  Day  in  Rome — The  Corso — We  find  the  Forum — Trajan’s  Column — Papal 
Profanation — St.  Peter’s  Found — The  Square  and  Obelisk — The  Interior  of  St. 
Peter’s — The  Galleries  of  the  Yatican — Statues — Ancient  Art — Hemicycle  of  the 
Belvidere — The  Laocoon — The  Divine  Apollo — New  Year’s  Day  in  Rome — The 
Quirinal  Hill — St.  John  Lateran — The  Temple  of  Yesta — The  Pyramid  of  Cestius— 
The  Tombs  of  Keats  and  Shelley — The  Ruins  of  Rome — The  Coliseum  at  Sunset — 
Mausoleum  of  Augustus — Crawford’s  Studio — The  Square  of  the  Pantheon — Pro¬ 
fane  and  Pious  Beggars — The  Trattoria  del  Sole — Impressions  of  Roman  Ruins— 
The  Coliseum  by  Moonlight. 

Rome,  December  29,  1845. 

One  day's  walk  through  Rome — how  shall  I  describe  it  ? 
The  Capitol,  the  Forum,  St.  Peter's,  the  Coliseum — what 
few  hours'  ramble  ever  took  in  places  so  hallowed  by  poetry, 
history  and  art  ?  It  was  a  golden  leaf  in  my  calendar  of 
life.  In  thinking  over  it  now,  and  drawing  out  the  threads 
of  recollection  from  the  varied  web  of  thought  I  have  woven 
to-day,  I  almost  wonder  how  I  dared  so  much  at  once ;  but 
within  reach  of  them  all,  how  was  it  possible  to  wait  ?  Let 
me  give  a  sketch  of  our  day's  ramble. 

Hearing  that  it  was  better  to  visit  the  ruins  by  evening  or 


408 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


moonlight  (alas  !  there  is  no  moon  now),  we  set  out  to  hunt 
St.  Peter’s.  Going  in  the  direction  of  the  Corso,  we  passed 
the  ruined  front  of  the  magnificent  Temple  of  Antoninus, 
now  used  as  the  Papal  Custom  House.  We  turned  to  the 
right  on  entering  the  Corso,  expecting  to  have  a  view  of  the 
city  from  the  hill  at  its  southern  end.  It  is  a  magnificent 
street,  lined  with  palaces  and  splendid  edifices  of  every  kind, 
and  always  filled  with  crowds  of  carriages  and  people.  On 
leaving  it,  however,  we  became  bewildered  among  the  narrow 
streets — passed  through  a  market  of  vegetables,  crowded 
with  beggars  and  contadini — threaded  many  by-ways  between 
dark  old  buildings — saw  one  or  two  antique  fountains  and 
many  modern  churches,  and  finally  arrived  at  a  hill. 

We  ascended  many  steps,  and  then  descending  a  little 
towards  the  other  side,  saw  suddenly  below  us  the  Roman 
Forum  !  I  knew  it  at  once — and  those  three  Corinthian 
columns  that  stood  near  us — what  could  they  be  but  the  re¬ 
mains  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Stator?  We  stood  on  the 
Capitoline  Hill ;  at  the  foot  was  the  Arch  of  Septimus  Se- 
verus,  brown  with  age  and  shattered ;  near  it  stood  the  ma¬ 
jestic  front  of  the  Temple  of  Fortune,  its  pillars  of  polished 
granite  glistening  in  the  sun,  as  if  they  had  been  erected 
yesterday,  while  on  the  left  the  rank  grass  was  waving  from 
the  arches  and  mighty  walls  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  ! 
In  front  ruin  upon  ruin  lined  the  way  for  half  a  mile,  where 
the  Coliseum  towered  grandly  through  the  blue  morning 
mist,  at  the  base  of  the  Esquiline  Hill  !  Good  heavens, 
what  a  scene !  Grandeur,  such  as  the  world  has  never 
since  beheld,  once  rose  through  that  blue  atmosphere ; 
splendor  inconceivable,  the  spoils  of  a  world,  the  triumphs 


4  09 


trajan's  column. 

% 

of  a  thousand  armies  had  passed  over  that  earth  •  minds, 
which  for  ages  moved  the  ancient  world,  had  thought  there  ; 
and  words  of  power  and  glory,  from  the  lips  of  immortal 
men,  had  been  syllabled  on  that  hallowed  air.  To  call  back 
all  this  on  the  very  spot,  while  the  wreck  of  what  once  was 
rose  mouldering  and  desolate  around,  kindled  a  glow  of 
thought  and  feeling  too  powerful  for  words. 

Returning  at  hazard  through  the  streets,  we  came  sud¬ 
denly  upon  the  column  of  Trajan,  standing  in  an  excavated 
square  below  the  level  of  the  city,  amid  a  number  of  broken 
granite  columns,  which  formed  part  of  the  Forum  dedicated 
to  him  by  Rome,  after  the  conquest  of  Dacia.  The  column 
is  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  feet  high,  and  entirely  cover¬ 
ed  with  bas-reliefs  representing  his  victories,  winding  about 
it  in  a  spiral  line  to  the  top.  The  number  of  figures  is  com¬ 
puted  at  two  thousand  five  hundred,  and  they  were  of  such 
excellence  that  Raphael  used  many  of  them  for  his  models. 
They  are  now  much  defaced,  and  the  column  is  surmounted 
by  a  statue  of  some  saint.  The  inscription  on  the  pedestal 
has  been  erased,  and  the  name  of  Sixtus  V.  substituted 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  ridiculous  vanity  of  the  old  popes 
in  thus  mutilating  the  finest  monuments  of  ancient  art. 
You  cannot  look  upon  any  relic  of  antiquity  in  Rome,  but 
your  eyes  are  assailed  by  the  words  “  Pontifex  Maximus,” 
in  staring  modern  letters.  Even  the  magnificent  bronzes  of 
the  Pantheon  were  stripped  to  make  the  baldachin  under  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter’s. 

Finding  our  way  back  again,  we  took  a  fresh  start,  happi¬ 
ly  in  the  right  direction,  and  after  walking  some  time  came 

out  on  the  Tiber,  at  the  Bridge  of  St.  Angelo.  The  river 

18 


410 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


rolled  below  in  his  muddy  glory,  and  in  front,  on  the  oppo¬ 
site  bank,  stood  “  the  pile  which  Hadrian  reared  on  high  ” — 
now ,  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo.  Knowing  that  St.  Peter's 
was  to  be  seen  from  this  bridge,  I  looked  about  in  search  of 
it.  There  was  only  one  dome  in  sight,  large  and  of  beauti¬ 
ful  proportions.  I  said  at  once,  u  surely  that  cannot  be  St. 
Peter’s  !”  On  looking  again,  however,  I  saw  the  top  of  a 
massive  range  of  building  near  it,  which  corresponded  so 
nearly  with  the  pictures  of  the  Vatican,  that  I  was  unwil¬ 
lingly  forced  to  believe  the  mighty  dome  was  really  before 
me.  I  recognised  it  as  one  of  those  we  had  seen  from  the 
Capitol,  but  it  appeared  so  much  smaller  when  viewed  from 
a  greater  distance,  that  I  was  quite  deceived.  On  consider¬ 
ing  we  were  still  three  fourths  of  a  mile  from  it,  and  that 
we  could  see  its  minutest  parts  distinctly,  the  illusion  was 
explained. 

Going  directly  down  the  Borgo  Vecchio ,  it  seemed  a  long 
time  before  we  arrived  at  the  square  of  St.  Peter’s  ;  and 
when  at  length  we  stood  in  front,  with  the  majestic  colonnade 

i'. 

sweeping  around — the  fountains  on  each  side  sending  up 

r  l  «  i 

their  showers  of  silvery  spray — the  mighty  obelisk  of  Egyp* 

tian  granite  piercing  the  sky — and  beyond,  the  great  faqade 

# 

and  dome  of  the  Cathedral,  I  confessed  my  unmingled  ad¬ 
miration.  It  recalled  to  my  mind  the  grandeur  of  ancient 
Rome,  and  mighty  as  her  edifices  must  have  been,  I  doubt 
if  she  could  boast  many  views  more  overpowering  than  this. 
The  facade  of  St.  Peter’s  seemed  close  to  us,  but  it  was 
a  third  of  a  mile  distant,  and  the  people  ascending  the  steps 
dwindled  to  pigmies. 

»*• 

I  passed  the  obelisk,  went  up  the  long  ascent,  crossed  the 


THE  INTERIOR  OF  ST.  PETER’S. 


411 


portico,  pushed  aside  the  heavy  leathern  curtain  at  the 

entrance,  and  stood  in  the  great  nave.  I  need  not  describe 

my  feelings  at  the  sight,  but  I  will  give  the  dimensions,  and 

the  reader  may  then  fancy  what  they  were.  Before  me 

was  a  marble  plain  six  hundred  feet  long,  and  under  the 

cross  four  hundred  and  seventeen  feet  wide  !  One  hundred 

and  fifty  feet  above,  sprang  a  glorious  arch,  dazzling  with 

inlaid  gold,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  cross  there  were  four 

hundred  feet  of  air  between  me  and  the  top  of  the  dome  ! 

The  sunbeam,  stealing  through  the  lofty  window  at  one  end 

of  the  transept,  made  a  bar  of  light  on  the  blue  air,  hazy 

with  incense,  one  tenth  of  a  mile  long,  before  it  fell  on  the 

mosaics  and  gilded  shrines  of  the  other  extremity.  The 

grand  cupola  alone,  including  lantern  and  cross,  is  two  him 

dred  and  eighty-five  feet  high,  or  sixty  feet  higher  than  the 

Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and  the  four  immense  pillars  on 

which  it  rests  are  each  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  feet  in 

circumference  !  It  seems  as  if  human  art  had  outdone 

itself  in  producing  this  temple — the  grandest  which  the 

♦  * 

world  ever  erected  for  the  worship  of  the  Living  God  !  The 
awe  I  felt  in  looking  up  at  the  colossal  arch  of  marble  and 
gold,  did  not  humble  me ;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  exalted, 
ennobled — beings  in  the  form  I  wore  planned  the  glorious 
edifice,  and  it  seemed  that  in  godlike  power  and  persever¬ 
ance,  they  were  indeed  but  a  little  lower  than  the  angels. 
I  felt  that,  if  fallen,  my  race  was  still  mighty  and  immortal. 

The  Vatican  is  only  open  twice  a  week,  on  days  which 
are  not  festas  ;  most  fortunately,  to-day  happened  to  be  one 
of  these,  and  we  took  a  run  through  its  endless  halls.  The 
extent  and  magnificence  of  the  gallery  of  sculpture  is 


412 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


amazing.  The  halls,  which  are  filled  to  overflowing  with 
the  finest  works  of  ancient  art,  would,  if  placed  side  by  side, 
make  a  row  more  than  two  miles  in  length  !  You  enter  at 
once  into  a  hall  of  marble,  with  a  magnificent  arched  ceiling, 
a  third  of  a  mile  long;  the  sides  are  covered  for  a  great 
distance  with  Roman  inscriptions  of  every  kind,  divided  into 
compartments  according  to  the  era  of  the  empire  to  which 
they  refer.  One  which  I  examined,  appeared  to  be  a  kind 
of  index  of  the  roads  in  Italy,  with  the  towns  on  them  ;  and 
we  could  decipher  on  that  time-worn  block,  the  very  route 
we  had  followed  from  Florence  hither. 

Then  came  the  statues,  and  here  I  am  bewildered,  how  to 
describe  them.  Hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  figures — statues 
of  citizens,  generals,  emperors,  and  gods — fauns,  satyrs,  and 
nymphs — children,  cupids,  and  tritons — in  fact,  they  seemed 
inexhaustible.  Many  of  them,  too,  were  forms  of  matchless 
beauty ;  there  were  Venuses  and  nymphs,  born  of  the 
loftiest  dreams  of  grace ;  fauns  on  whose  faces  shone  the 
very  soul  of  humor,  and  heroes  and  divinities  with  an  air 
of  majesty  worthy  the  “  land  of  lost  gods  and  godlike  men  !” 

I  am  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  perfection  of  art  attained 
by  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  There  is  scarcely  a  form  of 
beauty,  that  has  ever  met  my  eye,  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  this  gallery.  I  should  almost  despair  of  such  another 
blaze  of  glory  on  the  world,  were  it  not  my  devout  belief 
that  what  has  been  done  may  be  done  again,  and  had  I  not 
faith  that  the  dawn  in  which  we  live  will  bring  on  another 
day  equally  glorious.  And  why  should  not  America,  with 
the  experience  and  added  wisdom  which  three  thousand 
years  have  slowly  yielded  to  the  old  world,  joined  to  the 


THE  LAOCOOX. 


413 


giant  energy  of  her  youth  and  freedom,  re-bestow  on  the 
world  the  divine  creations  of  Art  ? 

But  let  us  step  on  to  the  hemicycle  of  the  Belvidere,  and 
view  some  works  greater  than  any  we  have  yet  seen,  or 
even  imagined.  The  adjoining  gallery  is  filled  with  master¬ 
pieces  of  sculpture,  but  we  will  keep  our  eyes  unwearied 
and  merely  glance  along  the  rows.  At  length  we  reach  a 
circular  court  with  a  fountain  flinging  up  its  waters  in  the 
centre.  Before  us  is  an  open  cabinet ;  there  is  a  beautiful, 
manly  form  within,  but  you  would  not  for  an  instant  take  it 
for  the  Apollo.  By  the  Gorgon  head  it  holds  aloft,  we  re¬ 
cognise  Canova’s  Perseus — he  has  copied  the  form  and  atti¬ 
tude  of  the  Apollo,  but  he  could  not  breathe  into  it  the  same 
warming  fire.  It  seemed  to  me  particularly  lifeless,  and  I 
greatly  preferred  his  Boxers,  who  stand  on  either  side  of  it. 

Now  we  look  on  a  scene  of  the  deepest  physical  agony. 
Mark  how  every  muscle  of  old  Laocoon’s  body  is  distended 
to  the  utmost  in  the  mighty  struggle !  What  intensity  of 
pain  in  the  quivering,  distorted  features !  Every  nerve, 
which  despair  can  call  into  action,  is  excited  in  one  giant 
effort,  and  a  scream  of  anguish  seems  just  to  have  quivered 
on  those  marble  lips.  The  serpents  have  rolled  their  stran¬ 
gling  coils  around  father  and  sons,  but  terror  has  taken  away 
the  strength  of  the  latter,  and  they  make  but  feeble  resist¬ 
ance.  After  looking  with  indifference  on  the  many  casts  of 
this  group,  I  was  the  more  moved  by  the  magnificent 
original.  It  deserves  all  the  admiration  that  has  been 
heaped  upon  it. 

I  absolutely  trembled  on  approaching  the  cabinet  of  the 
Apollo.  I  had  built  up  in  fancy  a  glorious  ideal,  drawn  from 


414 


VIEWS  A-F007. 

all  that  bards  have  sung  or  artists  have  rhapsodized  about 
its  divine  beauty.  I  feared  disappointment — I  dreaded  to 
have  my  ideal  displaced  and  my  faith  in  the  power  of  human 
genius  overthrown  by  a  form  less  than  perfect.  However, 
with  a  feeling  of  desperate  excitement,  I  entered  and  looked 
upon  it.  Now  what  shall  I  say  of  it  ?  How  describe  its 
immortal  beauty  ?  To  what  shall  I  liken  its  glorious  per¬ 
fection  of  form,  or  the  fire  that  imbues  the  cold  marble  with 
the  soul  of  a  god  ?  Not  with  sculpture,  for  it  stands  alone 
and  above  all  other  works  of  art — nor  with  men,  for  it  has 
a  majesty  more  than  human.  I  gazed  on  it,  lost  in  wonder 
and  joy — joy  that  I  could,  at  last,  take  into  my  mind  a  fault¬ 
less  ideal  of  god-like,  exalted  manhood.  The  figure  seems 
actually  to  possess  a  soul,  and  I  looked  on  it,  not  as  on  a  piece 
of  marble,  but  as  on  a  being  of  loftier  mould,  and  waited  to 
see  him  step  forward  when  the  arrow  had  reached  its  mark. 
I  would  give  worlds  to  feel  one  moment  the  sculptor’s 
triumph  when  his  work  was  completed ;  that  one  exulting 
thrill  must  have  repaid  him  for  every  ill  he  might  have  suf¬ 
fered  on  earth. 


January  1,  1846. 

New  Year’s  Day  in  the  Eternal  City  !  It  wTill  be  some¬ 
thing  to  say  in  after  years,  that  I  have  seen  one  year  open 
in  Rome — that,  while  my  distant  friends  were  making  up 
for  the  winter  without,  with  good  cheer  around  the  merry 
board,  I  have  walked  in  sunshine  by  the  ruins  of  the 
Coliseum,  watched  the  orange  groves  gleaming  with  golden 
fruitage  in  the  Farnese  gardens,  trodden  the  daisied  meadow 


415 


new-year’s  DAY  IN  ROME. 

around  the  sepulchre  of  Caius  Cestius,  and  mused  by  the 
graves  of  Shelley,  Keats  and  Salvator  Rosa !  The  Palace 
of  the  Caesars  looked  even  more  mournful  in  the  pale,  slant 
sunshine,  and  the  yellow  Tiber,  as  he  flowed  through  the 
“  marble  wilderness,”  seemed  sullenly  counting  up  the  long 
centuries  during  which  degenerate  slaves  have  trodden  his 
banks.  A  leaden-colored  haze  clothed  the  seven  hills,  and 
heavy  silence  reigned  among  the  ruins,  for  all  work  was 
prohibited,  and  the  people  were  gathered  in  their  churches. 
Rome  never  appeared  so  desolate  and  melancholy  as 
to-day. 

In  the  morning  I  climbed  the  Quirinal  Hill,  now  called 
Monte  Cavallo,  from  the  colossal  statues  of  Castor  and 
Pollux,  with  their  steeds,  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  Phi¬ 
dias  and  Praxiteles.  They  stand  on  each  side  of  an  obelisk 
of  Egyptian  granite,  beside  whicn  a  strong  stream  of  water 
gushes  up  into  a  magnificent  bronze  basin,  found  in  the  old 
Forum.  The  statues,  entirely  browned  by  age,  are  consider¬ 
ed  masterpieces  of  Grecian  art,  and  whether  or  not  from  the 
great  masters,  show  in  all  their  proportions,  the  conceptions 
of  lofty  genius. 

We  kept  on  our  way  between  gardens  filled  with  orange 
groves,  whose  glowing  fruit  reminded  me  of  Mignon’s  beau¬ 
tiful  reminiscence — “  Im  dunkeln  Laub  die  gold-Orangen 
gliihn !”  Rome,  although  subject  to  cold  winds  from  the 
Appenines,  enjoys  so  mild  a  climate  that  oranges  and  palm 
trees  grow  in  the  open  air,  without  protection.  Daisies  and 
violets  bloom  the  whole  winter,  in  the  meadows  of  never- 
fading  green.  The  basilica  of  the  Lateran  equals  St.  Peter’s 
in  splendor,  though  its  size  is  much  smaller.  The  walls  are 


416 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


covered  with  gorgeous  hangings  of  velvet  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  before  the  high  altar,  which  glitters  with  precious 
stones,  are  four  pillars  of  gilt  bronze,  said  to  be  those  which 
Augustus  made  of  the  spars  of  Egyptian  vessels  captured  at 
the  battle  of  Actium. 

We  descended  the  hill  to  the  Coliseum,  and  passing  under 
the  Arch  of  Constantine,  walked  along  the  ancient  triumphal 
way,  at  the  foot  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  which  is  entirely 
covered  with  the  ruins  of  the  Caesars’  Palace.  A  road, 
rounding  its  southern  base  towards  the  Tiber,  brought  us  to 
the  Temple  of  Vesta — a  beautiful  little  relic  which  has  been 
singularly  spared  by  the  devastations  that  have  overthrown 
so  many  mightier  fabrics.  It  is  of  circular  form,  surrounded 
by  nineteen  Corinthian  columns,  thirty-six  feet  in  height ;  a 
clumsy  tiled  roof  now  takes  the  place  of  the  elegant  cornice 
which  once  gave  the  crowning  charm  to  its  perfect  propor¬ 
tions.  Close  at  hand  are  the  remains  of  the  temple  of  For- 
tuna  Virilis,  of  which  some  Ionic  pillars  alone  are  left,  and 
the  house  of  Cola  di  Rienzi— the  last  Tribune  of  Rome. 

As  we  approached  the  walls,  the  sepulchre  of  Caius  Cestius 
came  in  sight — a  single  solid  pyramid,  one  hundred  feet  in 
height.  The  walls  are  built  against  it,  and  the  light  apex  rises 
far  above  the  massive  gate  beside  it,  which  was  erected  by 
Belisarius.  But  there  were  other  tombs  at  hand,  for  which 
we  had  more  sympathy  than  that  of  the  forgotten  Roman, 
and  we  turned  away  to  look  for  the  graves  of  Shelley  and 
Keats.  They  lie  in  the  Protestant  burying  ground,  on  the 
side  of  a  mound  that  slopes  gently  up  to  the  old  wall  of 
Rome,  beside  the  pyramid  of  Cestius.  The  meadow  around 
is  still  verdant  and  sown  thick  with  daisies,  and  the  soft 


GRAVES  OF  KEATS  AND  SHELLEY. 


417 


green  of  the  Italian  pine  mingles  with  the  dark  cypress 
above  the  slumberers.  Huge  aloes  grow  in  the  shade,  and 
the  sweet  hay  and  bushes  of  rosemary  make  the  air  fresh 
and  fragrant.  There  is  a  solemn,  mournful  beauty  about  the 
place,  green  and  lonely  as  it  is,  beside  the  tottering  walls  of 
ancient  Rome,  that  takes  away  the  gloomy  associations  of 
death,  and  makes  one  wish  to  lie  there,  too,  when  his  thread 
shall  be  spun  to  the  end. 

We  found  first  the  simple  head-stone  of  Keats,  alone,  in 
the  grassy  meadow.  Its  inscription  states  that  on  his  death¬ 
bed,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  at  the  malice  of  his 
enemies,  he  desired  these  words  to  be  written  on  his  tomb¬ 
stone  :  “ Here  lies  one  whose  name  was  written  in  water” 
Shelley  lies  at  the  top  of  the  shaded  slope,  in  a  lonely 
spot  by  the  wall,  surrounded  by  tall  cypresses.  A  little 
hedge  of  rose  and  bay  surrounds  his  grave,  which  bears  the 
simple  inscription — “  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  ;  Cor  Cor - 
dium” 

“  Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange/1 


Glorious  Shelley !  He  sleeps  calmly  now  in  that  silent 
nook,  and  the  air  around  his  grave  is  filled  with  sighs  from 
those  who  mourn  that  so  pure  a  star  of  poetry  should  have 
been  blotted  out  before  it  reached  its  meridian.  I  plucked 
a  leaf  from  the  fragrant  bay,  as  a  token  of  his  fame,  and  a 

•t 

sprig  of  cypress  from  the  bough  that  bent  lowest  over  his 

orave ;  and  passing  between  tombs  shaded  with  blooming 

18* 


418 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


«  •  • 

roses,  or  covered  with  unwithered  garlands,  left  the  lovely 
spot. 

Amid  the  excitement  of  continually  changing  scenes,  I 
have  forgotten  to  mention  our  first  visit  to  the  Coliseum. 
The  day  after  our  arrival  we  set  out  with  two  English 
friends,  to  see  it  by  sunset.  Passing  by  the  glorious  foun¬ 
tain  of  Trevi,  we  made  our  way  to  the  Forum,  and  from 
thence  took  the  road  to  the  Coliseum,  lined  on  both  sides 
with  the  remains  of  splendid  edifices.  The  grass-grown 
ruins  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars  stretched  along  on  our 
right ;  on  our  left  we  passed  in  succession  the  granite  front 
of  the  Temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina,  the  three  grand 
arches  of  the  Temple  of  Peace  and  the  ruins  of  the  Temple 
of  Venus  and  Pome.  We  went  under  the  ruined  triumphal 
arch  of  Titus,  with  broken  friezes  representing  the  taking  of 
Jerusalem,  and  the  mighty  walls  of  the  Coliseum  gradually 
rose  before  us.  They  grew  in  grandeur  as  we  approached 
them,  and  when  at  length  we  stood  in  the  centre,  with  the 
shattered  arches  and  grassy  walls  rising  above  and  beyond 
one  another,  far  around  us,  the  red  light  of  sunset  giving 
them  a  soft  and  melancholy  beauty,  I  was  fain  to  confess 
that  another  form  of  grandeur  had  entered  my  mind,  of 
which  I  knew  not  before. 

A  majesty  like  that  of  nature  clothes  this  wonderful  edi¬ 
fice.  Walls  rise  above  walls,  and  arches  above  arches  from 
every  side  of  the  grand  arena,  like  a  sweep  of  craggy,  pin¬ 
nacled  mountains  around  an  oval  lake.  The  two  outer  cir¬ 
cles  have  almost  entirely  disappeared,  torn  away  by  the  ra¬ 
pacious  nobles  of  Rome,  during  the  middle  ages,  to  build 
their  palaces.  When  entire,  and  filled  with  its  hundred 


THE  COLISEUM  AT  SUNSET. 


419 


thousand  spectators,  it  must  have  exceeded  any  pageant 
which  the  world  can  now  produce.  While  standing  in  the 
arena,  impressed  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene  around  me, 
which  grew  more  spectral  and  melancholy  as  the  dusk  of 
evening  began  to  fill  up  the  broken  arches,  my  eye  was  as¬ 
sailed  by  the  shrines  ranged  around  the  space,  doubtless  to 
remove  the  pollution  of  paganism.  In  the  centre  stands 
also  a  cross,  with  an  inscription,  granting  an  absolution  of 
forty  days  to  all  who  kiss  it.  Now,  although  a  simple  cross 
in  the  centre  might  he  very  appropriate,  both  as  a  token  of 
the  heroic  devotion  of  the  martyr  Telemachus  and  the 
triumph  of  a  true  religion  over  the  barbarities  of  the  Past, 
this  congregation  of  shrines  and  bloody  pictures  mars  very 
much  the  unity  of  association  so  necessary  to  the  perfect 
enjoyment  of  any  such  scene  We  saw  the  flush  of  sunset 
fade  behind  the  Capitoline  Hill,  and  passed  homeward  by 
the  Forum,  as  its  shattered  pillars  were  growing  solemn  and 
spectral  in  the  twilight. 

In  the  Via  de ’  Pontejici ,  not  far  distant  from  the  Borghese 
Palace,  we  saw  the  Mausoleum  of  Augustus.  It  is  a  large 
circular  structure  somewhat  after  the  plan  of  that  of  Hadrian, 
but  on  a  much  smaller  scale.  The  interior  has  been  cleared 
out,  seats  erected  around  the  walls,  and  the  whole  is.  now  a 
summer  theatre,  for  the  amusement  of  the  peasantry  and 
tradesmen.  What  a  commentary  on  greatness  !  Harlequin 
playing  his  pranks  in  the  tomb  of  an  Emperor,  and  the 
spot  which  nations  approached  with  reverence,  resounding 
with  the  mirth  of  beggars  and  degraded  vassals  ! 

I  was  in  the  studio  of  Crawford,  the  sculptor ;  he  has  at 
present  nothing  finished  in  the  marble.  There  were  many 


420 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


casts  of  liis  former  works,  which,  judging  from  their  appear¬ 
ance  in  plaster,  must  be  of  no  common  excellence — for  the 
sculptor  can  only  he  justly  judged  in  marble.  I  saw  some 
fine  bas-reliefs  of  classical  subjects,  and  an  exquisite  group 
of  Mercury  and  Psyche,  but  his  masterpiece  is  undoubtedly 
the  Orpheus.  The  face  is  full  of  the  inspiration  of  the  poet, 
softened  by  the  lover’s  tenderness,  and  the  whole  fervor  of 
his  soul  is  expressed  in  the  eagerness  with  which  he  gazes 
forward,  on  stepping  past  the  sleeping  Cerberus. 

We  are  often  amused  with  the  groups  in  the  square  of  the 
Pantheon,  which  we  can  see  from  our  chamber  window. 
Shoemakers  and  tinkers  carry  on  their  business  along  the 
sunny  side,  while  the  venders  of  oranges  and  roasted  chest¬ 
nuts  form  a  circle  around  the  Egyptian  obelisk  and  fountain. 
Across  the  end  of  an  opposite  street  we  get  a  glimpse  of  the 
vegetable  market,  and  now  and  then  the  shrill  voice  of  a 
pedlar  makes  its  nasal  solo  audible  above  the  confused  chorus. 
As  the  beggars  choose  the  Corso,  St.  Peter’s,  and  the  ruins 
for  their  principal  haunts,  we  are  now  spared  the  hearing 
of  their  lamentations.  Every  time  we  go  out  we  are 
assailed  with  them.  “  Maladetta  s' a  la  vostra  testa  /" — 
“  Curses  be  upon  your  head!” — said  one  whom  I  passed 
without  notice.  The  priests  are,  however,  the  greatest  beg¬ 
gars.  In  every  church  are  kept  offering-boxes,  for  the  sup¬ 
port  of  the  church  or  some  unknown  institution ;  they  even 
go  from  house  to  house,  imploring  support  and  assistance  in 
the  name  of  the  Virgin  and  all  the  saints,  while  their  bloat¬ 
ed,  sensual  countenances  and  capacious  frames  tell  of  any¬ 
thing  but  fasts  and  privations.  Once,  as  I  was  sittingamong 
the  ruins,  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  loud,  rattling  sound ; 


THE  TRATTORIA  DEL  SOLE, 


421 


turning  my  head,  I  saw  a  figure  clothed  in  white  from  head 
to  foot,  with  only  two  small  holes  for  the  eyes.  He  held  in 
his  hand  a  money-box,  on  which  was  a  figure  of  the  Virgin, 
which  he  held  close  to  my  lips,  that  I  might  kiss  it.  This  I 
declined  doing,  but  dropped  a  baiocco  into  his  box,  when 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he  silently  disappeared. 

Our  present  lodging  (Trattoria  del  Sole)  is  a  good  speci¬ 
men  of  an  Italian  inn  for  mechanics  and  common  tradesmen. 
Passing  through  the  front  room,  which  is  an  eating-place  for 
the  common  people— with  a  barrel  of  wine  in  the  corner, 
and  bladders  of  lard  hanging  among  orange  boughs  in  the 
window — we  enter  a  dark  court-yard  filled  with  heavy  carts, 
and  noisy  with  the  neighing  of  horses  and  singing  of  grooms, 
for  the  stables  occupy  part  of  the  house.  An  open  staircase, 
running  all  around  this  hollow  square,  leads  to  the  second, 
third,  and  fourth  stories.  On  the  second  story  is  the  dining 
room  for  the  better  class  of  travellers,  who  receive  the  same 
provisions  as  those  below  for  double  the  price,  and  the  ad¬ 
ditional  privilege  of  giving  the  waiter  two  baiocchi.  The 
sleeping  apartments  are  in  the  fourth  story,  and  are  named 
according  to  the  fancy  of  a  former  landlord,  in  mottos  above 
each  door.  Thus,  on  arriving  here,  the  Triester,  with  his 
wife  and  child,  more  fortunate  than  our  first  parents,  took 
refuge  in  “  Paradise/’  while  we  Americans  were  ushered 
into  the  44  Chamber  of  Jove.”  We  have  occupied  it  ever 
since,  and  find  a  paul  (ten  cents)  apiece  cheap  enough  for  a 
good  bed  and  a  window  opening  on  the  Pantheon. 

I  have  been  now  several  days  loitering  and  sketching 
among  the  ruins,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  willingly  wander 
for  months  beside  these  mournful  relics,  and  draw  inspiration 


422 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


from  the  lofty  yet  melancholy  lore  they  teach.  There  is  a 
spirit  haunting  them,  real  and  undoubted.  Every  shattered 
column,  every  broken  arch  and  mouldering  wall,  but  calls 
up  more  vividly  to  mind  the  glory  that  has  passed  away. 
Each  lonely  pillar  stands  as  proudly  as  if  it  still  helped  to 
bear  up  the  front  of  a  glorious  temple,  and  the  air  seems 
scarcely  to  have  ceased  vibrating  with  the  clarions  that 
heralded  a  conqueror’s  triumph. 

I  have  seen  the  flush  of  morn  and  eve  rest  on  the  Coli¬ 
seum ,  I  have  seen  the  noon-day  sky  framed  in  its  broken 
loopholes,  like  plates  of  polished  sapphire ;  and  last  night, 
as  the  moon  has  grown  into  the  zenith,  I  went  to  view  it 
with  her.  Around  the  Forum  all  was  silent  and  spectral — 
a  sentinel  challenged  us  at  the  Arch  of  Titus,  under  which 
we  passed,  and  along  the  Caesar’s  wall,  which  lay  in  black 
shadow.  Dead  stillness  brooded  around  the  Coliseum  ;  the 
pale,  silvery  lustre  streamed  through  its  arches,  and  over 
the  grassy  walls,  giving  them  a  look  of  shadowy  grandeur 
which  day  could  not  bestow.  The  scene  will  remain  fresh 
in  my  memory  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


TIVOLI  AND  THE  ROMAN  CAMPAGNA. 

Excursion  to  Tivoli — A  Sulphur  Bath— The  Temple  of  the  Sibyl — A  Windy  Night — 
The  Cascade  of  the  Anio — The  Cascatelles — The  Campagna — Museum  of  the 
Capitol — The  Dying  Gladiator — Kuins  on  the  Campagna — Tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella 
— The  Aqueducts — Egeria’s  Grotto — The  Yilla  Borghese — Tasso's  Tomb — Passport 
Pees  in  Italy — The  Turning  Point  of  the  Pilgrimage — Farewell ! 

» 

Rome,  Jan.  9,  1846. 

A  few  days  ago  we  made  an  excursion  to  Tivoli,  one  of  the 

t 

loveliest  spots  in  Italy.  We  left  the  Eternal  City  by  the 
Gate  of  San  Lorenzo,  and  twenty  minutes’  walk  brought 
us  to  the  bare  and  bleak  Campagna,  which  was  spread 
around  us  for  leagues  in  every  direction.  Here  and  there  a 
shepherd-boy  in  his  woolly  coat,  with  his  flock  of  browsing 
sheep,  were  the  only  objects  that  broke  its  desert-like 
monotony.  At  the  fourth  mile  we  crossed  the  rapid  Teve- 
rone,  the  ancient  Anio,  formerly  the  boundary  between 
Latium  and  the  Sabine  dominions,  and  at  the  tenth,  came 
upon  some  fragments  of  the  old  Tiburtine  way,  formed  of 
large  irregular  blocks  of  basaltic  lava.  A  short  distance 
further  we  saw  across  the  plain  the  ruins  of  the  bath  of 


424 


VIEWS  A- FOOT. 


Agrippa,  built  by  the  side  of  tlie  Tartarean  Lake.  The 
wind,  blowing  from  it,  bore  to  us  an  overpowering  smell  of 
sulphur  :  the  waters  of  the  little  river  Solfatara,  which 
crosses  the  road,  are  of  a  milky  blue  color,  and  carry  those 
of  the  lake  into  the  Anio.  Finding  the  water  quite  warm, 
Tve  determined  to  have  a  bath.  So  we  ran  down  the  plain, 
which  was  covered  with  a  thick  coat  of  sulphur,  and  sounded 
hollow  to  our  tread,  until  we  reached  a  convenient  place, 
where  we  threw  off  our  clothes,  and  plunged  in.  The  warm 
wave  was  delightful  to  the  skin,  but  extremely  offensive  to 
the  smell,  and  when  we  came  out,  our  mouths  and  throats 
were  filled  with  the  stifling  gas. 

It  was  growing  dark  as  we  mounted  through  the  narrow 
streets  of  Tivoli,  but  we  endeavored  to  gain  some  sight  of 
the  renowned  beauties  of  the  spot,  before  going  to  rest. 
From  a  platform  on  a  brow  of  the  hill,  we  looked  down  into 
the  defile,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Anio  was  roaring,  and 
caught  a  sideward  glance  of  the  Cascatelles,  sending  up 
their  spray  amid  the  evergreen  bushes  that  fringe  the  rocks. 
Above  the  deep  glen  that  curves  into  the  mountain,  stands 
the  beautiful  temple  of  the  Sibyl — a  building  of  the  most 
perfect  and  graceful  proportion.  It  crests  the  rocky  brow 
like  a  fairy  dwelling,  and  looks  all  the  lovelier  for  the  wild 
caverns  below.  Gazing  downward  from  the  bridge,  one 
sees  the  waters  of  the  Anio  tumbling  into  the  picturesque 
grotto  of  the  Sirens ;  around  a  rugged  corner,  a  cloud  of 
white  spray  whirls  up  continually,  while  the  boom  of  a 
cataract  rumbles  down  the  glen.  All  these  we  marked  in 
the  deepening  dusk,  and  then  hunted  an  albergo. 

The  shrill -voiced  hostess  gave  us  a  good  supper  and  clean 


THE  CASCADE  OF  THE  ANIO. 


425 


beds ;  and  in  return  we  diverted  the  people  very  much  by 
the  description  of  our  sulphur  bath.  We  were  awakened  in 
the  night  by  the  wind  shaking  the  very  soul  out  of  our  loose 
casement.  I  fancied  I  heard  torrents  of  rain  dashing*  against 
the  panes,  and  groaned  in  bitterness  of  spirit  on  thinking  of 
a  walk  back  to  Rome  in  such  weather.  When  the  morning 
came,  we  found  it  was  only  a  hurricane  of  wind  which  was 
strong  enough  to  tear  off  pieces  of  the  old  roofs.  I  saw  some 
capuchins  nearly  overturned  in  crossing  the  square,  by  the 
wind  seizing  their  wide  robes. 

I  had  my  fingers  frozen  and  my  eyes  filled  with  sand,  in 
trying  to  draw  the  Sibyl’s  temple,  and  therefore  left  it  to 
join  my  companions,  who  had  gone  down  into  the  glen  to 
see  the  great  cascade.  The  Anio  bursts  out  of  a  cavern  in 
the  mountain-side,  and  like  a  prisoner  giddy  with  recovered 
liberty,  reels  over  the  edge  of  a  precipice  more  than  two 
hundred  feet  deep.  The  bottom  is  hid  in  a  cloud  of  boiling 
spray,  which  shifts  from  side  to  side,  and  driven  by  the  wind, 
sweeps  whistling  down  the  narrow  pass.  It  stuns  the  ear 
with  a  perpetual  boom,  giving  a  dash  of  grandeur  to  the 
enrapturing  beauty  of  the  scene.  I  tried  a  foot-path  that 
appeared  to  lead  down  to  the  Cascatelles,  but  after  advanc¬ 
ing  some  distance  along  the  side  of  an  almost  perpendicular 
precipice,  I  came  to  a  corner  that  looked  so  dangerous,  espe¬ 
cially  as  the  wind  was  nearly  strong  enough  to  carry  me  off, 
that  it  seemed  safest  to  return.  We  made  another  vain 
attempt  to  get  down,  by  creeping  along  the  bed  of  a  torrent, 
filled  with  briars.  The  Cascatelles  are  formed  by  that  part 
of  the  Anio  which  is  used  in  the  iron  works,  made  out  of  the 
ruins  of  Mecaenas’  villa.  They  gush  out  from  under  the 


426 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ancient  arches,  and  tumble  more  than  a  hundred  feet  down 
the  precipice,  their  white  waters  gleaming  out  from  the  dark 
and  feathery  foliage.  Not  far  distant  are  the  remains  of  the 
villa  of  Horace. 

t 

On  our  return  to  Rome  we  took  the  road  to  Frascati,  and 
walked  for  miles  among  cane-swamps  and  over  plains  cover¬ 
ed  with  sheep.  The  people  we  saw,  were  most  degraded 
and  ferocious-looking,  and  there  were  many  I  would  not 
willingly  meet  alone  after  nightfall.  Indeed  it  is  still  con¬ 
sidered  quite  unsafe  to  venture  without  the  walls  of  Rome, 
after  dark.  The  women,  with  their  yellow  complexions, 
and  the  bright  red  blankets  they  wear  folded  around  the 
head  and  shoulders,  resemble  Indian  squaws. 

I  lately  spent  three  hours  in  the  Museum  of  the  Capitol, 
on  the  summit  of  the  sacred  hill.  In  the  hall  of  the  Gladia¬ 
tor  I  noticed  an  exquisite  statue  of  Diana.  The  Faun  of 
Praxiteles,  in  the  same  room,  is  a  glorious  work ;  it  is  the 
perfect  embodiment  of  that  wild,  merry  race  the  Grecian 
poets  dreamed  of.  One  looks  on  the  Gladiator  with  a  hushed 
breath  and  an  awed  spirit.  He  is  dying ;  the  blood  flows 
more  slowly  from  the  deep  wound  in  his  side ;  his  head  is 
sinking  downwards,  and  the  arm  that  supports  his  body 
becomes  more  and  more  nerveless.  You  feel  that  a  dull 
mist  is  coming  over  his  vision,  and  wait  to  see  his  relaxing 
limbs  sink  suddenly  on  his  shield.  That  the  rude,  barba¬ 
rian  form  has  a  soul,  may  be  read  in  his  touchingly  expres¬ 
sive  -countenance.  It  warms  the  sympathies  like  reality  to 
look  upon  it.  Yet  how  many  Romans  may  have  gazed  on 
this  work,  moved  nearly  to  tears,  who  have  seen  hun¬ 
dreds  perish  in  the  arena  without  a  pitying  emotion  !  Why 


RUINS  ON  THE  CAMPAGNA. 


427 


is  it  that  Art  has  a  voice  frequently  more  powerful  than 
Nature  ? 

Two  days  ago  we  took  a  ramble  outside  the  walls.  Pass¬ 
ing  the  Coliseum  and  Caracalla’s  Baths,  we  reached  the 
tomb  of  Scipio,  a  small  sepulchral  vault,  near  the  roadside. 
The  ashes  of  the  warrior  were  scattered  to  the  winds  long 
ago,  and  his  mausoleum  is  fast  falling  to  decay.  The  old 
arch  over  the  Appian  way  is  still  standing,  near  the  modern 
Porta  San  Sehastiano ,  through  which  we  entered  on  the  far- 
famed  road.  Here  and  there  it  is  quite  entire,  and  we  walk¬ 
ed  over  the  stones  once  worn  by  the  feet  of  Virgil  and 
Horace  and  Cicero.  After  passing  the  temple  of  Romulus 
— a  shapeless  and  ivy-grown  ruin — and  walking  a  mile  or 
more  beyond  the  walls,  we  reached  the  Circus  of  Caracalla, 
whose  long  and  shattered  walls  fill  the  hollow  of  one  of  the 
little  dells  of  the  Campagna.  The  original  structure  must 
have  been  of  great  size  and  splendor,  but  those  twin  Van¬ 
dals — Time  and  Avarice — have  stripped  away  everything 
but  the  lofty  brick  masses,  wliose  nakedness  the  pitying  ivy 
strives  to  cover. 

Further,  on  a  gentle  slope,  is  the  tomb  of  “  the  wealthiest 
Roman’s  wife,”  familiar  to  every  one  through  Childe  Har¬ 
old’s  musings.  It  is  a  round,  massive  tower,  faced  with  large 
blocks  of  marble,  and  still  bearing  the  name  of  Cecilia 
Metella.  One  side  is  much  ruined,  and  the  top  is  overgrown 
with  grass  and  wild  bushes.  The  wall  is  about  thirty  feet 
thick,  so  that  but  a  small  round  space  is  left  in  the  interior, 
which  is  open  to  the  rain,  and  filled  with  rubbish.  The  echoes 
pronounced  hollowly  after  us  the  name  of  the  dead  for  whom  it 
was  built,  but  they  could  tell  us  nothing  of  her  life’s  history. 


428 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


I  made  a  hurried  drawing  of  it,  and  we  then  turned  to 
the  left,  across  the  Campagna,  to  seek  the  grotto  of  Egeria. 
Before  us,  across  the  brown  plain,  extended  the  Sabine 
Mountains ;  in  the  clear  air  the  houses  of  Tivoli,  twenty 
miles  distant,  were  plainly  visible.  The  giant  aqueduct 
stretched  in  a  long  line  across  the  Campagna  to  the  moun¬ 
tain  of  Albano,  its  broken  and  disjointed  arches  resembling 
the  vertebrae  of  some  mighty  monster.  With  the  ruins  of 
temples  and  tombs  strewing  the  plain  for  miles  around  it, 
it  might  be  called  the  spine  of  the  skeleton  of  Borne. 

We  passed  many  ruins,  made  beautiful  by  the  clinging 
ivy,  and  reached  a  solemn  grove  of  evergreen  oak,  overlook¬ 
ing  a  secluded  valley.  I  was  soon  in  the  meadow,  leaping 
ditches,  rustling  through  cane-brakes,  and  climbing  up  to 
mossy  arches  to  find  the  fountain  of  Numa’s  nymph,  while 
my  companion,  who  had  less  taste  for  the  romantic,  looked 
on  complacently  from  the  leeward  side  of  the  hill.  At 
length  we  found  an  arched  vault  in  the  hill  side,  overhung 
with  wild  vines,  and  shaded  in  summer  by  umbrageous  trees 
which  grow  on  the  soil  above.  At  the  further  end  a  stream 
of  water  gushed  out  from  beneath  a  broken  statue,  and  an 
aperture  in  the  wall  revealed  a  dark  cavern  behind.  This, 
then,  was  “  Egeria’s  grot.”  The  ground  was  trampled  by 
the  feet  of  cattle,  and  the  taste  of  the  water  was  anything 
but  pleasant.  I  tried  to  creep  into  the  grotto,  but  it  was 
unpleasantly  dark,  and  no  nymph  appeared  to  chase  away 
the  shadow  with  her  lustrous  eyes. 

I  went  afterwards  to  the  Villa  Borghese,  outside  the  Porto 
del  Popolo.  The  gardens  occupy  thirty  or  forty  acres,  and 
are  always  thronged  in  the  afternoon  with  the  carriages  of 


THE  TOMB  OF  TASSO. 


429 


the  Roman  and  foreign  nobility.  In  summer,  it  must  be  a 
heavenly  place  ;  even  now,  with  its  musical  fountains,  long 
avenues,  and  grassy  slopes  crowned  with  the  fan-like  branches 
of  the  Italian  pine,  it  reminds  one  of  the  fairy  landscapes  of 
Boccaccio.  We  threaded  our  way  through  the  press  of  car¬ 
riages  on  the  Pincian  hill,  and  saw  the  enormous  bulk  of 
St.  Peter’s  loom  up  against  the  sunset  sky.  I  counted  forty 
domes  and  spires  in  that  part  of  Rome  which  lay  below  us — 
but  on  what  a  marble  glory  looked  that  sun  eighteen  centu¬ 
ries  ago  !  Modern  Rome — it  is,  in  comparison,  a  den  of  filth, 
cheats  and  beggars  ! 

Yesterday,  while  taking  a  random  stroll  through  the  city, 
I  visited  the  church  of  St.  Onofrio,  where  Tasso  is  buried. 
It  is  not  far  from  St.  Peter’s,  on  the  summit  of  a  lonely  hill. 
The  building  was  closed,  but  an  old  monk  admitted  us  on 
application.  The  interior  is  quite  small,  but  very  old,  and 
the  floor  is  covered  with  the  tombs  of  princes  and  prelates 
of  a  past  century.  Near  the  end  I  found  a  small  slab  with 
the  inscription  : — “  torqtjati  tassi  :  ossa  :  hic  jacent.” 
That  was  all — but  what  more  was  needed  ?  Who  knows 
not  the  name  and  fame  and  sufferings  of  the  glorious  bard  ? 
The  pomp  of  gold  and  marble  are  not  needed  to  deck  the 
slumber  of  genius.  On  the  wall,  above,  hangs  an  old  and 
authentic  portrait  of  him,  very  similar  to  the  engravings  in 
circulation.  A  crown  of  laurel  encircles  the  lofty  brow, 
and  the  eye  has  that  wild,  mournful  expression  which  ac¬ 
cords  so  well  with  the  mysterious  tale  of  his  love  and 
madness. 

Owing  to  the  mountain  storms,  which  imposed  on  us  the 
expense  of  a  carriage-journey  to  Rome,  we  shall  be  prevent- 


430 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


ed  from  going  further.  One  great  cause  of  this  is  the  heavy 
fee  required  for  passports  in  Italy.  In  most  of  the  Italian 
cities,  the  cost  of  the  different  vises  amounts  to  $4  or  $5  ; 
and  a  few  such  visits  as  these  reduce  our  funds  very  materi¬ 
ally.  The  American  Consul’s  fee  is  $2,  owing  to  the  illibe¬ 
ral  course  of  our  government,  in  withholding  all  salary  from 
her  Consuls  in  Europe.  Mr.  Brown,  however,  in  whose 
family  we  spent  last  evening  very  pleasantly,  on  our  request¬ 
ing  that  he  would  deduct  something  from  the  usual  fee, 
kindly  declined  accepting  anything.  We  felt  this  kindness 
the  more,  as  from  the  character  which  some  of  our  late  Con¬ 
suls  bear  in  Italy,  we  had  not  anticipated  it.  We  shall  re¬ 
member  him  with  deeper  gratitude  than  many  would  sup' 
pose,  who  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  be  a  foreigner. 

To-morrow,  therefore,  we  leave  Rome — here  is,  at  last, 
the  limit  of  our  wanderings.  We  have  endured  much  toil 
and  privation  to  reach  here,  and  now,  after  two  weeks’ 
rambling  and  musing  among  the  mighty  relics  of  past  glory, 
we  turn  our  faces  homeward.  The  thrilling  hope  I  cherish¬ 
ed  during  the  whole  pilgrimage — to  climb  Parnassus  and 
drink  from  Castaly,  under  the  blue  heaven  of  Greece — to 
sigh  for  fallen  Art,  beneath  the  broken  friezes  of  the  Par¬ 
thenon,  and  look  with  a  pilgrim’s  eye  on  the  isles  of  Homer 
and  Sappho — must  be  given  up,  unwillingly  and  sorrowfully 
though  it  be.  These  glorious  anticipations — among  the 
brightest  that  blessed  my  boyhood — are  slowly  wrung  from 
me  by  stern  necessity.  Even  Naples,  the  lovely  Parthenope, 
where  the  Mantuan  bard  sleeps  on  the  sunny  shore,  by  the 
bluest  of  summer  seas,  with  the  disinterred  Pompeii  beyond, 
and  Paestum  amid  its  roses  on  the  lonely  Calabrian  plain  ' 


FAREWELL  ! 


even  this,  almost  within  sight  of  the  cross  of  St.  Peter’s,  is 
barred  from  me.  Farewell  then,  since  it  must  be  l  Fare¬ 
well  Greece,  that  I  shall  not  see — and,  Rome,  for  all  thou 
hast  taught  me,  take  in  return  a  pilgrim’s  blessing! 


CHAPTER  XXXIX, 


THE  MEDITERRANEAN  IN  WINTER. 

Departure  from  Rome — The  Campagna — The  Shore  of  the  Mediterranean — Civita 
Yecchia — The  handsome  Sailor — Disadvantage  of  not  being  Servants — Embarking 
— Sleeping  on  Deck — Elba  and  Corsica  by  Moonlight — Second  Night  on  the  Deck 
— A  Rainy  Day  at  Genoa — A  Stormy  Night — A  Bailor’s  Compassion — The  Coast 
of  France — Approach  to  Marseilles — The  Two  Servants — Marseilles — Our  Circum¬ 
stances. 


Marseilles,  January  16,  1846, 

We  repacked  our  knapsacks  on  the  morning  of  the  10th, 
bade  adieu  to  the  two  young  Englishmen,  and  the  tall,  mysv 
terious  Swede,  who  had  been  our  only  companions  in  Rome, 
and  started  on  foot  for  Civita  Veccliia.  When  we  emerged 
from  the  cool  alleys  of  the  city,  and  began  to  climb  up  and 
down  the  long,  barren  swells  of  the  Campagna,  the  sun  beat 
down  on  us  with  almost  a  summer  heat.  On  crossing  a  ridge 
near  Castel  Guido,  we  took  our  last  look  at  Romo,  and  saw 
from  the  other  side  the  sunshine  lying  like  a  dazzling  belt 
on  the  far  Mediterranean,  The  country  is  one  of  the  most, 
wretched  that  can  be  imagined.  Miles  and  miles  of  uncul¬ 
tivated  land,  with  scarcely  a  single  habitation,  extend  on 


THE  SHORE  OF  THE  MEDITERRANEAN. 


433 


either  side  of  the  road,  and  the  few  shepherds  who  watch 
their  flocks  in  the  marshy  hollows,  look  wild  and  savage 
enough  for  any  kind  of  crime.  It  made  me  shudder  to  see 
every  face  bearing  such  a  villanous  stamp. 

We  made  twenty-five  miles,  and  spent  the  night  at  the 
village  of  Palo,  on  the  sea-shore.  Rising  early,  we  walked 
in  the  cool  of  the  morning  beside  the  blue  Mediterranean. 
On  the  right,  the  low  outposts  of  the  Appenines  rose,  bleak 
and  brown,  the  narrow  plain  between  them  and  the  shore 
resembling  a  desert,  so  destitute  was  it  of  the  signs  of  civil¬ 
ized  life.  A  low,  white  cloud  that  hung  over  the  sea,  afar 
off,  showed  us  the  locality  of  Sardinia,  although  the  land  was 
not  visible.  The  sun  shone  down  warmly,  and  with  the  blue 
sky  and  bluer  sea  we  could  easily  have  imagined  a  milder 
season.  The  barren  scenery  took  a  new  interest  in  my  eyes, 
when  I  remembered  that  the  day  on  which  I  saw  it  completed 
my  twenty -first  year.  In  the  afternoon  we  found  a  beautiful 
cove  in  a  curve  of  the  shore,  and  went  to  bathe  in  the  cold 
surf.  It  was  very  refreshing,  but  not  quite  equal  to  the 
sulphur-bath  on  the  road  to  Tivoli.  The  mountains  now  ran 
closer  to  the  sea,  and  the  road  was  bordered  with  thickets 
of  myrtle.  I  stopped  often  to  beat  my  staff  into  the  bushes, 
and  inhale  the  fragrance  that  arose  from  their  crushed 
leaves. 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  a  sky  of  orange  and  rose,  as  Civita 
Vecchia  came  in  sight  on  a  long  headland  before  us.  Be¬ 
yond  the  sea  stretched  the  dim  hills  of  Corsica.  We  walked 
nearly  an  hour  in  the  clear  moonlight,  by  the  sounding  shore, 
before  the  gate  of  the  city  was  reached.  We  found  a  cheap 

inn  called  La  Stella,  where  fleas  and  dirt  were  plentiful,  but 

19 


434 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


our  rapidly  declining  means  made  us  blind  to  discomfort.  Be¬ 
sides,  there  was  a  handsome  Italian  sailor  at  the  inn,  who 
treated  me  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  to  whom  I  took 
a  strong  liking.  He  devoted  himself  to  making  me  as  com¬ 
fortable  as  the  place  would  allow,  and  in  spite  of  our  despe¬ 
rate  circumstances,  his  bright,  honest,  affectionate  face  made 
me  entirely  happy. 

About  the  old  town  of  Civita  Vecchia  there  is  not  much 
to  be  said,  except  that  it  has  the  same  little  harbor  which 
Trajan  dug  for  it,  and  is  as  dirty  and  disagreeable  as  a  town 
can  well  be.  We  saw  nothing  except  a  little  church,  and 
the  prison-yard,  full  of  criminals,  where  the  celebrated  ban¬ 
dit,  Gasparoni,  has  been  confined  for  eight  years. 

The  Neapolitan  Company’s  boat,  Mongibello ,  was  adver¬ 
tised  to  leave  on  the  12th,  so,  after  procuring  our  passports, 
we  went  to  the  office  to  take  passage.  The  official,  however, 
refused  to  give  us  tickets  for  the  third  place,  because,  for¬ 
sooth,  we  were  not  servants  or  common  laborers  !  and  words 
were  wasted  in  trving  to  convince  him  that  it  would  make 
no  difference.  As  the  second  cabin  fare  was  nearly  three 
times  as  high,  and  would  have  exhausted  all  our  money  at 
once,  we  went  to  the  office  of  the  Tuscan  Company,  whose 
boat  was  to  leave  in  two  days.  Through  the  influence  of  an 
Italian  gentleman,  whom  we  accidentally  met  in  the  street, 
the  agent  agreed  to  take  us  for  forty-five  francs,  on  deck, 
the  fare  on  the  Neapolitan  boat  being  thirty. 

Bather  than  stay  two  days  longer  in  the  dull  town,  we 
went  again  to  the  latter  Company’s  office  and  offered  forty- 
five  francs  to  go  that  day  in  their  boat.  This  removed  the 
former  scruples,  and  tickets  were  immediately  made  out. 


SLEEPING  ON  DECK. 


435 


After  a  plentiful  dinner  at  the  albergo,  to  prepare  ourselves 
for  the  exposure,  we  filled  our  pockets  with  a  supply  of 
bread,  cheese,  and  figs,  for  the  voyage.  We  then  engaged 
a  boatman,  who  agreed  to  row  us  out  to  the  steamer  for  two 
pauls,  but  after  he  had  us  on  board  and  an  oar’s  length  from 
the  quay,  he  said  two  pauls  apiece  was  his  bargain.  The 
other  boatmen  took  his  part,  and  as  our  kind  sailor  friend 
was  not  there,  we  were  obliged  to  pay. 

The  hour  of  starting  was  two  o’clock,  but  the  boat  lay 
quietly  in  the  harbor  until  four,  when  we  glided  out  on  the 
open  sea,  and  went  northward,  with  the  blue  hills  of  Corsica 
far  on  our  left.  A  gorgeous  sunset  faded  away  over  the 
water,  and  the  moon  rose  behind  the  low  mountains  of  the 
Italian  coast.  Having  found  a  warm  and  sheltered  place 
near  the  chimney,  I  drew  my  hat  further  over  my  eyes,  to 
keep  out  the  moonlight,  and  lay  down  on  the  deck  with  my 
knapsack  under  my  head.  It  was  a  hard  bed,  indeed  ;  and 
the  first  time  I  attempted  to  rise,  I  found  myself  glued  to 
the  floor  by  the  pitch  which  was  smeared  along  the  seams 
of  the  boards  !  Our  fellow-sufferers  were  a  company  of 
Swiss  soldiers  going  home  after  a  four  years’  service  under 
the  King  of  Naples,  but  they  took  to  their  situation  more 
easily  than  we. 

Sleep  was  next  to  impossible,  so  I  paced  the  deck  occa¬ 
sionally,  looking  out  on  the  moonlit  sea  and  the  dim  shores 
on  either  side.  A  little  after  midnight  we  passed  between 
Elba  and  Corsica.  The  dark  crags  of  Elba  rose  on  our 
right,  and  the  bold  headlands  of  Napoleon’s  isle  stood  oppo¬ 
site,  at  perhaps  twenty  miles’  distance.  There  was  some¬ 
thing  dreary  and  mysterious  in  the  scene,  viewed  at  such  a 


436 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


time — the  grandeur  of  his  career,  who  was  born  on  one  and 
exiled  to  the  other,  gave  it  a  strange  and  thrilling  interest. 

We  made  the  light-house  before  the  harbor  of  Leghorn  at 
dawn,  and  by  sunrise  were  anchored  within  the  mole.  I  sat 
on  the  deck  the  whole  day,  watching  the  picturesque  vessels 
that  skimmed  about  with  their  lateen  sails,  and  wondering 
how  soon  the  sailors,  on  the  deck  of  a  Boston  brig  anchored 
near  us,  would  see  my  distant  country.  Leaving  at  four 
o’clock  we  dashed  away,  along  the  mountain  coast  of  Car- 
rara,  at  a  rapid  rate.  The  wind  was  strong  and  cold,  but  I 
lay  down  behind  the  boiler,  and  though  the  boards  were  as 
hard  as  ever,  slept  two  or  three  hours.  When  I  awoke  at 
half-past  two  in  the  morning,  after  a  short  rest,  Genoa  was 
close  at  hand.  We  glided  between  the  two  revolving  lights 
on  the  mole,  into  the  harbor,  with  the  amphitheatre  on  which 
the  superb  city  sits,  dark  and  silent  around  us.  It  began 
raining  soon,  the  engine-fire  sank  down,  and  as  there  was 
no  place  of  shelter,  we  were  shortly  wet  to  the  skin.  How 
long  those  dreary  hours  seemed,  until  the  dawn  came !  All 
was  cold  and  rainy  and  dark,  and  we  waited  in  a  kind  of 
torpid  misery  for  daylight.  I  passed  the  entire  day,  sitting 
in  a  coil  of  rope  under  the  eaves  of  the  cabin,  and  even  the 
beauties  of  the  glorious  city  scarce  affected  me.  We  lay 
opposite  the  Doria  palace,  and  the  constellation  of  villas  and 
towers  still  glittered  along  the  hills ;  but  who,  with  his  teeth 
chattering  and  limbs  numb  and  damp,  could  feel  pleasure  in 
looking  on  Elysium  itself  ? 

We  got  under  way  again  at  three  o’clock.  The  rain  very 
soon  hid  the  coast  from  view,  and  the  waves  pitched  our 
boat  about  in  a  most  violent  and  disagreeable  manner.  I 


x  sailor’s  compassion. 


437 


goon  experienced  sea-sickness  in  all  its  horrors.  We  had 
accidentally  made  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  the  sailors,  a 
swarthy  Neapolitan,  who  had  been  in  America.  He  was 
one  of  those  rough,  honest  natures  which  abound  in  his  class 
— tender-hearted  as  women,  with  all  their  rudeness  and  pro¬ 
fanity.  As  we  were  standing  by  the  chimney,  wet,  cold  and 
sick,  reflecting  dolefully  how  we  should  pass  the  coming 
night,  he  came  up  and  said ;  “  I  am  in  trouble  about  you, 
poor  fellows !  I  don’t  think  I  shall  sleep  three  hours  to¬ 
night,  for  thinking  of  you.  I  shall  tell  the  officers  to  give 
you  beds.  They  should  see  you  are  gentlemen,  and  I  will 
tell  them  so  !”  The  noble  fellow  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
I  knew  not  what  he  said  or  did,  but  in  half  an  hour  a  ser¬ 
vant  called  us  into  the  second  cabin,  gave  us  first  some  warm 
soup,  and  then  pointed  out  our  berths. 

I  turned  in  with  a  feeling  of  relief  not  easily  imagined,  and 
forgave  the  fleas  willingly,  in  the  comfort  of  a  shelter  from 
the  storm.  When  I  awoke,  it  was  broad  day.  A  fresh 
breeze  was  drying  the  deck,  and  the  sun  was  half-visible 
among  breaking  clouds.  We  had  just  passed  the  Isle  of  the 
Titan,  one  of  the  Isles  des  Hye-es ,  and  the  bay  of  Toulon 
opened  on  our  right.  It  was  a  rugged,  rocky  coast,  but  the 
hills  of  sunny  Provence  rose  beyond.  The  sailor  came  up 
with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  on  his  rough  countenance,  shook 
hands  with  us  heartily,  and  said :  “  Ah,  you  slept  last  night, 
I  think !  I  told  the  officers,  every  one  of  them,  and  they 
would  be  cursed  rascals  not  to  give  beds  to  you  gentlemen  !” 

We  ran  along,  beside  the  brown,  bare  crags,  until  nearly 
noon,  when  we  reached  the  eastern  point  of  the  Bay  of  Mar¬ 
seilles.  A  group  of  small  islands,  formed  of  bare  rocks, 


439 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


rising  in  precipices  three  or  four  hundred  feet  high,  guards 
the  point ;  on  turning  into  the  Gulf,  we  saw  on  the  left  the 
rocky  islands  of  Pomegues,  and  If,  with  the  castle  crowning 
the  latter,  in  which  Mirabeau  was  confined.  The  ranges  of 
hills  which  rose  around  the  great  bay,  were  spotted  and 
sprinkled  over  with  thousands  of  the  country  cottages  of  the 
Marseilles  merchants,  called  Bastides;  the  city  itself  was 
hidden  from  view.  W e  saw  apparently  the  whole  bay,  but 
there  was  no  crowd  of  vessels,  such  as  would  befit  a  great 
sea-port ;  a  few  spires  peeping  over  a  hill,  with  some  fortifi¬ 
cations,  were  all  that  was  visible.  At  length  we  turned 
suddenly  aside  and  entered  a  narrow  strait,  between  two 
forts.  Immediately  a  broad  harbor  opened  before  us,  locked 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  hills  on  which  the  city  stands. 
It  was  covered  with  vessels  of  all  nations ;  on  leaving  the 
boat,  we  rowed  past  the  “  Aristides,”  bearing  the  blue  cross 
of  Greece,  and  I  searched  eagerly  and  found,  among  the 
crowded  masts,  the  starry  banner  of  America. 

As  we  were  preparing  to  go  ashore,  the  servant  who  had 
summoned  us  to  the  second  cabin,  and  who  had  behaved 
very  civilly  towards  us,  came  up  and  bade  us  welcome  to 
Marseilles.  I  thanked  him,  whereupon  the  other  servant, 
who  had  not  taken  the  least  notice  of  us,  laughed  sneering- 
ly.  I  gave  the  former  a  two-franc  piece  for  his  courtesy, 
which  stopped  the  other's  laugh  at  once.  He  came  up  very 
respectfully,  and  began  to  make  some  polite  remarks,  which 
I  answered  by  turning  my  back  on  him  and  walking  off. 
We  lodged  in  a  neat  little  tavern,  frequented  by  the  Pro¬ 
vencal  teamsters,  and  found  it  a  pleasant  change  from  the 
Italian  inns.  In  the  evening,  as  we  were  walking  on  the 


MARSEILLES. 


439 


quay,  we  were  suddenly  hailed  by  a  cheerful  voice.  It  was 
the  Neapolitan  sailor,  who  greeted  us  with  an  oath  of  delight. 
I  thanked  him  once  more  for  his  kindness,  but  he  answered, 
bluntly  :  “  Don't  say  anything  more  about  it — I  saw  you 
were  gentlemen  !” 

I  have  rambled  through  all  the  principal  parts  of  Mar¬ 
seilles,  and  am  very  favorably  impressed  with  its  appear¬ 
ance.  Its  cleanliness,  and  the  air  of  life  and  business  which 
marks  the  streets,  are  the  more  pleasant  after  coming  from 
the  dirty  and  depopulated  Italian  cities  The  broad  avenues 
lined  with  trees,  which  traverse  its  whole  length,  must  be 
delightful  in  summer.  I  am  often  reminded,  by  its  spacious 
and  crowded  thoroughfares,  of  our  American  cities.  Al¬ 
though  founded  by  the  Phoceans,  three  thousand  years  ago, 
it  has  scarcely  an  edifice  of  greater  antiquity  than  three  or 
four  centuries,  and  the  tourist  must  content  himself  with 
wandering  through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  town,  ob¬ 
serving  the  Provengal  costumes,  or  strolling  among  Turks 
and  Moors  on  the  Quai  dy  Orleans. 

We  have  been  detained  here  a  day  longer  than  was  neces¬ 
sary,  owing  to  some  misunderstanding  about  the  passports. 
This  has  not  been  favorable  to  our  reduced  circumstances, 
for  we  have  now  but  fifteen  francs  each  left  to  take  us  to 
Paris.  Our  boots,  too,  after  serving  us  so  long,  begin  to 
show  signs  of  failing  in  this  hour  of  adversity.  Although 
we  are  somewhat  accustomed  to  such  circumstances,  I  cannot 
help  shrinking  when  I  think  of  the  solitary  napoleon  and 
the  five  hundred  miles  to  be  travelled.  Perhaps,  however, 
the  coin  will  do  as  much  as  its  great  namesake,  and  achieve 
for  us  a  Marengo  in  the  war  with  fate. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THROUGH  PROVENCE  AND  UP  THE  RHONE. 

The  Hills  of  Provence — Rainy  Travel — A  night  at  Aix — Provencal  Scenery — The 
Mother  of  Soldiers — Bivouac  at  Senas — The  Valley  of  the  Sorgues — Approach  to 
Vaucluse — The  Fountain  of  Vaucluse — More  Rain — A  Gleam  of  Sunshine — Avignon 
— The  Blacksmith's  Shop — Economical  Travel — The  Kindness  of  the  Poor — Roman 
Remains  at  Orange — Travel  up  the  Rhone — A  Soldier's  Camp — Daybreak  Scene — 
Valence — The  Rhone — A  Night  at  Vienne — Approach  to  Lyons — A  Quandary- 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Ferrand — The  Mistrust  of  Poverty — Experiences  in  Lyons 
— Gloomy  Days — Le  CacJwt — The  Sixth  Day — The  Letter — A  Plan  to  Borrow  a  F ranc 
— The  Relief— Excitement — A  Marvellous  Change. 

tt  f  r  '■ ' 

We  left  Marseilles  about  nine  o’clock,  on  a  dull,  rainy  morn¬ 
ing,  for  Avignon  and  the  Rhone,  intending  to  take  in  our 
way  the  glen  of  Vaucluse.  The  dirty  ftubourgs  stretch  out 
along  the  road  for  a  great  distance,  and  we  trudged  through 
them,  past  foundries,  furnaces  and  manufactories,  considera¬ 
bly  disheartened  with  the  prospect.  We  wound  among  the 
bleak  stony  hills,  continually  ascending,  for  nearly  three 
hours.  Great  numbers  of  cabarets,  frequented  by  the  com¬ 
mon  people,  lined  the  roads,  and  we  met  continually  trains 
of  heavily  laden  wagons,  drawn  by  large  mules.  The  coun¬ 
try  is  very  wild  and  barren,  and  would  have  been  tiresome, 


RAINY  TRAVEL. 


441 


except  for  the  pine  groves  with  their  beautiful  green  foliage. 
We  got  something  to  eat  with  difficulty  at  an  inn,  for  the 
people  spoke  nothing  but  the  Provengal  dialect,  and  the  place 
was  so  cold  and  cheerless  we  were  glad  to  go  out  again  into 
the  storm.  It  mattered  little  to  us,  that  we  heard  the  lan¬ 
guage  in  which  the  gay  troubadours  of  King  Rene  sang  their 
songs  of  love.  We  thought  more  of  our  dripping  clothes 
and  numb,  cold  limbs,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  hear  in' 
stead,  the  strong,  hearty  German  tongue,  full  of  warmth  and 
kindly  sympathy  for  the  stranger.  The  wind  swept  dreari¬ 
ly  among  the  hills ;  black,  gusty  clouds  covered  the  sky, 
and  the  incessant  rain  filled  the  road  with  muddy  pools.  We 
looked  at  the  country  chateaux,  so  comfortable  in  the 
midst  of  their  sheltering  poplars,  with  a  sigh,  and  thought 
of  homes  afar  off,  whose  doors  were  never  closed  to  us. 

This  was  all  forgotten,  when  we  reached  Aix,  and  the 
hostess  of  the  Cafe  d’Afrique  filled  her  little  stove  with  fresh 
coal,  and  hung  our  wet  garments  around  it,  while  her  daugh¬ 
ter,  a  pale-faced,  crippled  child,  smiled  kindly  on  us  and 
tried  to  talk  with  us  in  French.  Putting  on  our  damp,  heavy 

coats  again,  B - and  I  rambled  through  the  streets,  while 

our  frugal  supper  was  preparing.  We  saw  the  statue  of  the 
Bon  Roi  Rene ,  who  held  at  Aix  his  court  of  shepherds 
and  troubadours — the  dark  Cathedral  of  St.  Sauveur — the 
ancient  walls  and  battlements,  and  gazed  down  the  valley 
at  the  dark,  precipitous  mass  of  Mont  St.  Victor,  at  the  base 
of  which  Marius  obtained  a  splendid  victory  over  the  bar¬ 
barians. 

The  shallow,  elevated  valleys  we  passed  in  the  forenoon’s 

walk  next  day,  were  stony  and  barren,  but  covered 

19* 


442 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


with  large  orchards  of  almond  trees,  the  fruit  of  which 
forms  a  considerable  article  of  export.  This  district 
borders  on  the  desert  of  the  Crau,  a  vast  plain  of  stones, 
reaching  to  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone,  and  almost  entirely  un¬ 
inhabited.  We  caught  occasional  glimpses  of  its  sea-like 
waste,  between  the  summits  of  the  hills.  At  length,  after 
threading  a  high  ascent,  we  saw  the  valley  of  the  Durance 
suddenly  below  us.  The  sun,  breaking  through  the  clouds, 
shone  on  the  mountain  wall,  which  stood  on  the  opposite 
side,  touching  with  his  glow  the  bare  and  rocky  precipices 
that  frowned  far  above  the  stream.  Descending  to  the 
valley,  we  followed  its  course  towards  the  Rhone,  with  the 
ruins  of  feudal  bourgs  crowning  the  crags  above  us. 

It  was  dusk,  when  we  reached  the  village  of  Senas,  tired 
with  the  day’s  march.  A  landlord,  standing  in  his  door,  on 
the  look-out  for  customers,  invited  us  to  enter,  in  a  manner 
so  polite  and  pressing,  we  could  not  choose  but  do  so.  This 
is  a  universal  custom  with  the  country  innkeepers.  In  a 
little  village  which  we  passed  towards  evening,  there  was  a 
tavern  with  the  sign  :  “  The  Mother  of  Soldiers .”  A  portly 
woman,  whose  face  beamed  with  kindness  and  cheerfulness, 
stood  in  the  door,  and  invited  us  to  stop  there  for  the  night. 
‘•No,  mother!”  I  answered;  “we  must  go  much  further 
to-day.”  “  Go,  then,”  said  she,  “  with  good  luck,  my  chil¬ 
dren!  a  pleasant  journey  !”  On  entering  the  inn  at  Senas, 
two  or  three  bronzed  soldiers  were  sitting  by  the  table.  My 
French  vocabulary  happening  to  give  out  in  the  middle  of  a 
consultation  about  eggs  and  onion-soup,  one  of  them  came 
to  my  assistance  and  addressed  me  in  German.  He  was  from 
Fulda,  in  Hesse  Cassel,  and  had  served  fifteen  years  in  Africa 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SORGUES. 


443 


Two  other  young  soldiers,  from  the  western  border  of  Ger¬ 
many,  came  during  the  evening,  and  one  of  them  being  part¬ 
ly  intoxicated,  created  such  a  tumult,  that  a  quarrel  arose, 
which  ended  in  his  being  beaten  and  turned  out  of  the 
house.  We  all  bivouacked  together  in  the  loft,  and  there 
was  so  much  noise  that  I  got  very  little  sleep.  We  met 
every  day,  large  numbers  of  recruits  in  companies  of 
one  or  two  hundred,  on  their  way  to  Marseilles  to  em¬ 
bark  for  Algiers.  They  were  mostly  youths,  from  sixteen 
to  twenty  years  of  age,  and  seemed  little  to  forebode  their 
probable  fate. 

Leaving  next  morning  at  day-break,  we  walked  on  before 
breakfast  to  Orgon,  a  little  village  in  the  corner  of  the 
cliffs  which  border  the  Durance,  and  crossed  the  muddy  river 
by  a  suspension  bridge  a  short  distance  below,  to  Cavaillon, 
where  the  country  people  were  holding  a  great  market. 
From  this  place  a  road  led  across  the  meadow-land  to  LTsle, 
six  miles  distant.  This  little  town  is  so  named,  because  it 
is  situated  on  an  island  formed  by  the  crystal  Sorgues, 
which  flows  from  the  fountains  of  Yaucluse.  It  is  a  very 
picturesque  and  pretty  place.  Great  mill-wdieels,  turning 
slowly  and  constantly,  stand  at  intervals  in  the  stream, 
whose  grassy  banks  are  now  as  green  as  in  spring-time.  We 
walked  along  the  Sorgues,  which  is  quite  as  beautiful  and 
worthy  to  be  sung  as  the  Clitumnus,  to  the  end  of  the  vil¬ 
lage,  to  take  the  road  to  Yaucluse.  Beside  its  banks  stands 
a  dirty,  modern  u  Hotel  de  Petrarque  et  Laure,” 

The  bare  mountain  in  whose  heart  lies  the  poet’s  solitude, 
now  rose  before  us,  at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  Mont  Yentoux, 
whose  summit  of  snows  extended  beyond.  We  left  the 


444 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


river  and  walked  over  a  barren  plain,  across  which  the  wind 
blew  most  drearily.  The  sky  was  rainy  and  dark,  and  com¬ 
pleted  the  desolateness  of  the  scene,  which  in  no  wise 
heightened  our  anticipations  of  the  renowned  glen.  At 
length  we  rejoined  the  Sorgues  and  entered  a  little  green 
valley  running  up  into  the  mountain.  The  narrowness  of 
the  entrance  entirely  shut  out  the  wind,  and  except  the  roll¬ 
ing  of  the  waters  over  their  pebbly  bed,  all  was  still  and 
lonely  and  beautiful.  The  sides  of  the  dell  were  covered 
with  olive  trees,  and  a  narrow  strip  of  emerald  meadow  lay 
at  the  bottom.  It  grew  more  hidden  and  sequestered  as  we 
approached  the  little  village  of  Vaucluse.  Here,  the  moun¬ 
tain  towers  far  above,  and  precipices  of  grey  rock,  many 
hundred  feet  high,  hang  over  the  narrowing  glen.  On  a 
crag  over  the  village  are  the  remains  of  a  castle  ;  the  slope 
below  this,  now  rugged  and  stony,  was  once  graced  by  the 
cottage  and  garden  of  Petrarch.  All  traces  of  them  have 
long  since  vanished,  but  a  simple  column,  bearing  the  in¬ 
scription,  “  A  Petrarque,”  stands  beside  the  Sorgues. 

We  ascended  into  the  defile  by  a  path  among  the  rocks, 
overshadowed  by  olive  and  wild-fig  trees,  to  the  celebrated 
fountains  of  Vaucluse.  The  glen  seems  as  if  struck  into  the 
mountain’s  depths  by  one  blow  of  an  enchanter’s  wand  ;  and 
just  at  the  end,  where  the  rod  might  have  rested  in  its  down¬ 
ward  sweep,  is  the  fathomless  well  whose  overbrimming  ful¬ 
ness  gives  birth  to  the  Sorgues.  We  climbed  up  over  the 
mossy  rocks  and  sat  down  in  the  grot,  beside  the  dark,  still 
pool.  It  was  the  most  absolute  solitude.  The  rocks 
towered  above  and  over  us,  to  the  height  of  six  hundred 
feet,  and  the  gray  walls  of  the  wild  glen  below  shut  out  all 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  VAUCLUSE. 


445 


appearance  of  life.  I  leaned  over  the  rock  and  drank  of  the 
blue  crystal  that  grew  gradually  darker  towards  the  centre, 
until  it  became  a  mirror,  and  gave  back  a  perfect  reflection 
of  the  crags  above  it.  There  was  no  bubbling — no  gushing 
up  from  its  deep  bosom — but  the  wealth  of  sparkling  waters 
continually  welled  over,  as  from  a  k>o-full  goblet. 

It  was  with  actual  sorrow  that  I  turned  away  from  the 
silent  spot.  I  never  visited  a  place  to  which  the  fancy  clung 
more  suddenly  and  fondly.  There  is  something  holy  in  its 
solitude,  making  one  envy  Petrarch  the  years  of  calm  and 
unsullied  enjoyment  which  blessed  him  there.  As  some 
persons,  whom  we  pass  as  strangers,  strike  a  hidden  chord 
in  our  spirits,  compelling  a  silent  sympathy  with  them,  so 
some  landscapes  have  a  character  of  beauty  which  harmo¬ 
nizes  entirely  with  the  mood  in  which  we  look  upon  them, 
until  we  forget  admiration  in  the  glow  of  spontaneous  attach¬ 
ment.  They  seem  like  abodes  of  the  Beautiful,  which  the 
soul  in  its  wanderings  long  ago  visited,  and  now  recognises 
and  loves  as  the  home  of  a  forgotten  dream.  It  was  thus  I 
felt  by  the  fountains  of  Vaucluse  ;  sadly  and  with  weary 
steps  I  turned  away,  leaving  its  loneliness  unbroken  as 
before. 

We  returned  over  the  plain  in  the  wind,  under  the  gloomy 
sky,  passed  LTsle  at  dusk,  and  after  walking  an  hour  with 
a  rain  following  close  behind  us,  stopped  at  an  auberge  in  Le 
Thor,  where  we  rested  our  tired  frames  and  broke  our  long 
day’s  fasting.  We  were  greeted  in  the  morning  with  a  dis¬ 
mal  rain  and  wet  roads,  as  wre  began  the  march.  After  a 
time,  however,  it  poured  down  in  such  torrents,  that  we  were 
obliged  to  take  shelter  in  a  remise  by  the  road-side,  where  a 


440 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


good  woman  who  addressed  us  in  the  unintelligible  Proven¬ 
cal,  kindled  up  a  blazing  fire  to  dry  us.  On  climbing  a  long 
hill,  when  the  storm  had  abated,  we  experienced  a  delight¬ 
ful  surprise.  Below  us  lay  the  broad  valley  of  the  Rhone, 
its  meadows  looking  fresh  and  spring-like  after  the  rain.  The 
clouds  were  breaking  away  ;  clear  blue  sky  was  visible  o<rer 
Avignon,  and  a  belt  of  sunlight  lay  warmly  along  the  moun¬ 
tains  of  Languedoc.  Many  villages,  with  their  tall,  pictur¬ 
esque  towers,  dotted  the  landscape,  and  the  groves  of  green 
olive  enlivened  the  barrenness  of  winter.  Two  or  three 
hours*  walk  over  the  plain,  by  a  road  fringed  with  willows, 
brought  us  to  the  gates  of  Avignon. 

We  walked  around  its  picturesque  turreted  wall,  and 
rambled  through  its  narrow  streets,  washed  here  and  there 
by  streams  which  turn  the  old  mill-wheels  lazily  around. 
We  climbed  to  the  massive  palace,  which  overlooks  the  city 
from  its  craggy  seat,  attesting  the  splendor  it  enjoyed,  when 
for  thirty  years  the  Papal  Court  was  held  there,  and  the 
gray,  weather-beaten,  irregular  building,  resembling  a  pile 
of  precipitous  rocks,  echoed  with  the  revels  of  licentious  pre¬ 
lates.  We  could  not  enter  to  learn  the  terrible  secrets  of 
the  Inquisition,  here  unveiled,  but  we  looked  up  at  the  tow¬ 
er,  from  which  the  captive  Rienzi  was  liberated  at  the  inter¬ 
cession  of  Petrarch. 

After  leaving  Avignon,  we  took  the  road  up  the  Rhone 
for  Lyons,  turning  our  backs  upon  the  rainy  South.  We 
reached  the  village  of  Sorgues  by  dusk,  and  accepted  the 
invitation  of  an  old  dame  to  lodge  at  her  inn,  which  proved 
to  be  a  blacksmith’s  shop  !  It  was  nevertheless  clean  and 
comfortable,  and  we  sat  down  in  one  corner,  out  of  the  reach 


TRAVELLING  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES. 


447 


of  the  showers  of  sparks,  which  flew  hissing  from  a  red-hot 
horse-shoe,  which  the  smith  and  his  apprentice  were  hammer¬ 
ing.  A  Piedmontese  pedlar,  who  carried  the  “  Song  of  the 
Holy  St.  Philom'ne”  to  sell  among  the  peasants,  came  in 
directly,  and  bargained  for  a  sleep  on  some  hay,  for  two  sous. 
For  a  bed  in  the  loft  over  the  shop,  we  were  charged  five 
sous  each,  which,  with  seven  sous  for  supper,  made  our  ex¬ 
penses  for  the  night  about  eleven  cents  !  Our  circumstances 
demanded  the  greatest  economy,  and  we  began  to  fear 
whether  even  this  spare  allowance  would  enable  us  to  reach 
Lyons.  Owing  to  a  day’s  delay  in  Marseilles,  we  had  left 
that  city  with  but  fifteen  francs  each  ;  the  incessant  storms 
of  winter  and  the  worn-out  state  of  our  shoes,  which  were 
no  longer  proof  against  water  or  mud,  prolonged  our  jour¬ 
ney  considerably,  so  that  by  starting  before  dawn  and  walk¬ 
ing  until  dark,  we  were  only  able  to  make  thirty  miles  a 
day.  We  could  always  procure  beds  for  five  sous,  and  as 
in  the  country  inns  one  is  only  charged  for  what  he  chooses 
to  order,  our  frugal  suppers  cost  us  but  little.  We  purchas¬ 
ed  bread  and  cheese  in  the  villages,  and  made  our  breakfasts 
and  dinners  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  or  climbed  the  rocks 
and  sat  down  by  the  source  of  some  trickling  rill.  This 
simple  fare  had  an  excellent  relish,  and  although  we  walked 
in  wet  clothes  from  morning  till  night,  often  lying  down  on 
the  damp,  cold  earth  to  rest,  our  health  was  never  affected. 

It  is  worth  all  the  toil  and  privation  we  have  as  yet  under¬ 
gone,  to  gain,  from  actual  experience,  the  blessed  knowledge 
that  man  always  retains  a  kindness  and  brotherly  sympathy 
towards  his  fellow — that  under  all  the  weight  of  vice  and 
misery  which  a  grinding  oppression  of  soul  and  body  brings 


448 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


on  the  laborers  of  earth,  there  still  remain  many  bright 
tokens  of  a  better  nature.  Among  the  starving  mountaineers 
of  the  Hartz — the  degraded  peasantry  of  Bohemia — the 
savage  contadini  of  Central  Italy,  or  the  dwellers  on  the  hills 
of  Provence  and  beside  the  swift  Phone,  we  almost  invaria¬ 
bly  found  kind,  honest  hearts,  and  an  aspiration  for  some¬ 
thing  better,  betokening  the  consciousness  that  such  brute¬ 
like,  obedient  existence  was  not  their  proper  destiny.  We 
found  few  so  hardened  as  to  be  insensible  to  a  kind  look  or  a 
friendly  word,  and  nothing  made  us  forget  we  were  among 
strangers  so  much  as  the  many  tokens  of  sympathy  which 
met  us  when  least  looked  for.  A  young  Englishman,  who 
had  travelled  on  foot  from  Geneva  to  Pome,  enduring  many 
privations  on  account  of  his  reduced  circumstances,  said  to 
me,  while  speaking  on  this  subject  :  “A  single  word  of  kind¬ 
ness  from  a  stranger  would  make  my  heart  warm,  and  my 
spirits  cheerful,  for  days  afterwards.”  There  is  not  so  much 
evil  in  man  as  men  would  have  us  believe  ;  and  it  is  a  happy 
comfort  to  know  and  feel  this. 

Leaving  our  little  inn  before  day -break  the  next  morning, 
we  crossed  the  Sorgues,  grown  muddy  since  its  infancy  at 
Yaucluse.  The  road  passed  over  broad,  barren  ranges  of 
hills,  and  the  landscape  was  destitute  of  all  interest,  until  we 
approached  Orange.  This  city  is  built  at  the  foot  of  a  rocky 
height,  a  great  square  projection  of  which  seemed  to  stand  in 
its  midst.  As  we  approached  nearer,  however,  arches  and 
lines  of  cornice  could  be  discerned,  and  we  recognised  it  as 
the  celebrated  amphitheatre,  one  of  the  grandest  Roman 
relics  in  the  south  of  France. 

I  stood  at  the  foot  of  this  great  fabric,  and  gazed  up  at  it 


449 


*  UP  THE  RHONE. 

* 

in  astonishment.  The  exterior  wall,  three  hundred  and 
thirty-four  feet  in  length,  and  rising  to  the  height  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty -one  feet,  is  still  in  excellent  preserve 
ticn,  and  through  its  rows  of  solid  arches  one  looks  on  the 
broken  ranges  of  seats  within.  Passing  through  the  city,  we 
came  to  the  beautiful  Roman  triumphal  arch,  which  to  my  eye 
is  a  finer  structure  than  that  of  Constantine  at  Rome.  It  is 
built  of  a  rich  yellow  marble,  and  highly  ornamented  with 
sculptured  trophies.  From  the  barbaric  shields  and  the  letters 
Mario,  still  remaining,  it  has  been  supposed  to  commemorate 
the  victory  of  Marius  over  the  barbarians,  near  Aix. 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  the  road  was  monotonous,  though 
varied  somewhat  by  the  tall  crags  of  Mornas  and  Mont- 
dragon,  towering  over  the  villages  of  the  same  name.  Night 
came  on  as  the  rock  of  Pierrelatte,  at  whose  foot  we  were  to 
sleep,  appeared  in  the  distance,  rising  like  a  Gibraltar  from 
the  plain,  and  we  only  reached  it  in  time  to  escape  the  rain 
that  came  down  the  valley  of  the  Rhone.  Next  day  we 
passed  several  companies  of  soldiers  on  their  way  to  Africa. 
Near  Montelimart,  we  lost  sight  of  Mont  Yentoux,  whose 
gleaming  white  crest  had  been  visible  all  the  way  from  Vau- 
cluse,  and  passed  along  the  base  of  a  range  of  hills  running 
near  to  the  river.  So  went  our  march,  without  particular 
incident,  until  we  bivouacked  for  the  night  among  a  company 
of  soldiers  in  the  little  village  of  Loriol.  They  were  steady, 

merry  fellows,  and  we  fraternized  thoroughly.  We  were  all 

% 

tired  with  the  day’s  journey,  and  the  loft,  which  was  our 
common  sleeping-room,  was  quiet  enough  in  five  minutes 
after  we  went  to  bed. 

v  Leaving  at  six  o’clock,  wakened  by  the  trumpets  which 


450  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

41 

called  up  tlie  soldiers  to  their  day’s  march,  we  reached  the 
river  Drome  at  dawn,  and  from  the  bridge  over  its  rapid 
current,  gazed  at  the  dim,  ash-colored  masses  of  the  Alps  of 
Dauphine,  piled  along  the  sky,  far  up  the  valley.  The 
coming  of  morn  threw  a  yellow  glow  along  their  snowy  sides, 
and  lighted  up,  here  and  there,  a  flashing  glacier.  The 
peasantry  were  already  up  and  at  work,  and  caravans  of 
pack-wagons  rumbled  along  in  the  morning  twilight.  We 
trudged  on  with  them,  and  by  breakfast-time  had  made 
some  distance  of  the  way  to  Valence.  The  ro&d,  which  does 
not  approach  the  Rhone,  is  devoid  of  interest  and  tiresome, 
though  under  a  summer  sky,  when  the  hare  vine-hills  are 
latticed  over  with  green,  and  the  fruit-trees  covered  with 
blossoms  and  foliage,  it  may  be  a  scene  of  great  beauty. 

Valence,  which  we  reached  towards  noon,  is  a  common¬ 
place  city  on  the  Rhone  ;  and  my  only  reasons  for  traversing 
its  dirty  streets  in  preference  to  taking  the  road,  which  passes 
without  the  walls,  were — to  get  something  for  dinner,  and 
because  it  might  have  been  the  birth-place  of  Aymer  de 
Valence,  the  valorous  Crusader,  chronicled  in  “  Ivanlioe,” 
whose  tomb  I  had  seen  in  Westminster  Abbey.  One  of  the 
streets,  which  wras  marked  “  Rue  Bayard,”  shows  that  my 
valiant  namesake — the  knight  without  fear  and  reproach — is 
still  remembered  in  his  native  province.  The  ruins  of  his 
chateau  are  still  standing  among  the  Alps  near  Grenoble. 

In  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the  Isere,  a  swift,  muddy 
river,  which  rises  among  the  Alps  of  Dauphine.  We  saw 
their  icy  range,  among  which  is  the  desert  solitude  of  the 
Grand  Chartreuse,  far  up  the  valley ;  but  the  thick  atmo¬ 
sphere  hid  the  mighty  Mont  Blanc,  wkose  cloudy  outline. 


VIENNE. 


451 


eighty  miles  distant  in  a  bee  line,  is  visible  in  fair  weather. 

At  Tain,  we  came  upon  the  Rhone  again,  and  walked  along 

the  base  of  the  hills  which  contract  its  current.  Here,  I 

* 

should  call  it  beautiful.  The  scenery  has  a  wildness  that 
approaches  to  that  of  the  Rhine.  Winding  around  the 
curving  hills,  the  scene  is  constantly  varied,  and  the  little 
willowed  islets  clasped  in  the  embrace  of  the  stream,  mingle 
a  trait  of  softened  beauty  with  its  sterner  character. 

After  passing  the  night  at  a  village  on  its  banks,  we  left  it 
again  at  St.  Yallier,  the  next  morning.  At  sunset,  the  spires 
of  Yienne  were  visible,  and  the  lofty  Mont  Pilas,  the  snows 
of  whose  riven  summits  feed  the  springs  of  the  Loire  on  its 
western  side,  stretched  majestically  along  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  Rhone.  Yienne,  which  is  mentioned  by  several  of 
the  Roman  historians  under  its  present  name,  was  the  capital 
of  the  Allobroges,  and  I  looked  upon  it  with  a  new  and 
strange  interest,  .on  calling  to  mind  my  scliool-boy  days, 
when  I  had  become  familiar  with  that  warlike  race,  in  toil¬ 
ing  over  the  pages  of  Caesar.  We  walked  in  the  mud  and 
darkness  for  what  seemed  a  great  distance,  and  finally  took 
shelter  in  a  little  inn  at  the  northern  end  of  the  city.  Two 
Belgian  soldiers,  coming  from  Africa,  were  already  quartered 
there,  and  we  listened  to  their  tales  of  the  Arab  and  the 
Desert,  while  supper  was  preparing. 

The  morning  of  the  25th  was  dull  and  rainy ;  the  road, 
very  muddy  and  unpleasant,  led  over  the  hills,  avoiding  the 
westward  curve  of  the  Rhone,  directly  towards  Lyons.  About 
noon,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  broad  valley  in  which  the 
Rhone  first  clasps  his  Burgundian  bride,  the  Saone,  and  a 
cloud  of  impenetrable  coal-smoke  showed  us  the  location  of 


452 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Lyons.  A  nearer  approach  revealed  a  large  flat  dome,  and 
some  ranges  of  tall  buildings  near  the  river.  We  soon  en- 
tered*  the  suburb  of  La  Guillotiere,  which  has  sprung  up  on 
the  eastern  bank  of  the  Rhone.  Notwithstanding  our  clothes 
were  like  sponges,  our  boots  entirely  worn  out,  and  our 
bodies  somewhat  thin  with  nine  days’  exposure  to  the  wintry 
storms  in  walking  two  hundred  and  forty  miles,  we  entered 
Lyons  with  suspense  and  anxiety.  But  one  franc  apiece 
remained  out  of  the  fifteen  with  which  we  left  Marseilles. 

B - wrote  home  some  time  ago,  directing  a  remittance  to 

be  forwarded  to  a  merchant  at  Paris,  to  whom  he  had  a 
letter  of  introduction,  and  in  the  hope  that  this  had  arrived, 
he  determined  to  enclose  the  letter  in  a  note,  stating  our 
circumstances,  and  requesting  the  merchant  to  forward  a 
part  of  the  remittance  to  Lyons.  We  had  then  to  wait  at 
least  four  days ;  people  are  suspicious  and  mistrustful  in 
cities,  and  if  no  relief  should  come,  what  was  to  be  done  ? 

After  wading  through  the  mud  of  the  suburbs,  we  chose 
a  common-looking  inn  near  the  river,  as  the  comfort  of  our 
stay  depended  wholly  on  the  kindness  of  our  hosts,  and  our 
experiences  had  taught  us  that  there  is  most  genuine  kind¬ 
ness  among  the  poorer  classes.  We  engaged  lodgings  for 
four  or  five  days  ;  after  dinner  the  letter  was  dispatched,  and 
we  wandered  about  through  the  dark,  dirty  city  until  night. 
Our  landlord,  Monsieur  Ferrand,  was  a  rough,  vigorous 
man,  with  a  gloomy,  discontented  expression ;  his  words 
were  few  and  blunt ;  but  a  certain  restlessness  of  manner, 
and  a  secret  flashing  of  his  cold,  forbidding  eye,  betrayed  to 
me  some  strong  hidden  excitement.  Madame  Ferrand  was 
kind  and  talkative,  though  passionate ;  but  the  appearance 


A  MISTRUSTFUL  LANDLORD.  453 

* 

w  (ft 

of  the  place  gave  me  an  unfavorable  impression,  which  was 
heightened  by  the  thought  that  it  was  now  impossible  to 
change  our  lodgings  until  relief  should  arrive.  When  bed- 

v 

time  came,  a  ladder  was  placed  against  a  sort  of  high  plat¬ 
form  along  one  side  of  the  kitchen ;  we  mounted  and  found 
a  bed,  concealed  from  the  view  of  those  below  by  a  dusty 
muslin  curtain.  We  lay  there,  between  heaven  and  earth — 
the  dirty  earth  of  the  brick  floor  and  the  sooty  heaven  of 
the  ceiling — listening  until  midnight  to  the  boisterous  songs, 
and  loud,  angry  disputes  in  the  room  adjoining.  Thus  ended 
our  first  day  in  Lyons. 

Five  weary  days,  each  of  them  containing  a  month  of 
torturing  suspense,  succeeded.  A  man  who  has  no  money 
in  his  pocket  soon  begins  to  suspect  that  he  is  a  vagabond, 
and  fears  that  he  shall  be  found  out.  I  believe  Monsieur  Fer- 
rand  mistrusted  us  from  the  beginning.  One  night,  when 
he  thought  us  asleep,  he  carefully  felt  our  knapsacks,  which 
Madame  Ferrand  kept  at  the  head  of  her  bed,  just  under 
our  platform.  I  had  a  small  pocket  telescope,  which  he  at 
first  took  for  a  roll  of  five-franc  pieces,  but  after  much  feel¬ 
ing  decided  that  it  was  something  else.  I  lay  awake  nearly 
all  night,  trying  to  devise  some  plan  of  relief,  in  case  no 
money  should  come,  but  could  think  of  nothing  that  was  at 
all  practicable.  In  order  to  account  for  our  stay,  we  pre¬ 
tended  to  have  business  in  the  city,  so  we  wandered  all  day 
long  through  the  misty,  muddy,  smoky  streets,  taking  refuge  . 
in  the  covered  bazaars  when  it  rained  heavily.  We  walked 
so  incessantly  up  and  down  the  same  streets,  that  the  market- 
women  knew  us,  and  made  their  daily  comments  when  we 
appeared.  The  policemen  knew  us,  too,  and  some  of  them 


454 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


(so  we  thought)  watched  us.  I  soon  became  intimately  ac¬ 
quainted  with  every  part  of  Lyons,  from  Presqu'  isle  Per - 
rache  to  Croix  Rousse.  I  knew  the  contents  of  every  shop 
in  the  Bazaar,  and  the  passage  of  the  Hotel  Dieu — the  title 
of  every  volume  in  the  bookstores  in  the  Place  Belcour — 
and  the  countenance  of  every  boot-black  and  apple-woman 
on  the  Quais  on  both  sides  of  the  river. 

It  rained  every  day,  and  the  sun  was  not  once  visible. 
The  gloom  of  everything  around  us,  entirely  smothered 
that  lightness  of  heart  which  made  us  laugh  over  our  em¬ 
barrassments  at  Vienna.  When  at  evening,  the  dull,  leaden 
hue  of  the  clouds  seemed  to  make  the  air  dark  and  cold 
and  heavy,  we  walked  beside  the  swollen  and  turbid  Rhone, 
under  an  avenue  of  leafless  trees,  the  damp  soil  chilling  our 
feet  and  striking  a  numbness  through  our  frames,  and  then 
I  knew  what  those  must  feel  who  have  no  hope  in  their  des¬ 
titution,  and  not  a  friend  in  all  the  great  world,  who  is  not 
as  wretched  as  themselves.  One  night,  as  we  were  pacing 
dismally  along  the  Rhone,  a  man  who  was  walking  before 
us,  kept  saying  to  himself :  “  le  cachot  !  lecachot  /”  (the  dun¬ 
geon.)  “  Yes,”  said  I,  involuntarily,  “  we  shall  have  either 
the  cash  0  !  or  the  cachot ,  before  long.”  The  man  turned 
around,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  gave  a  curious  spring  into 
the  air,  snapped  his  fingers  two  or  three  times,  and  then  ran 
off,  still  exclaiming  :  “  le  cachot  !  le  cachot  /” 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  I  said  to  B - ,  “  this 

morning  will  terminate  our  suspense.”  I  felt  cheerful  in 
spite  of  myself ;  and  this  was  like  a  presentiment  of  coming 
good-luck.  To  pass  the  time  until  nine  o’clock,  when  the 
Post  Office  was  opened,  I  climbed  to  the  chapel  of  Fourvieresf 


A  PLAN  TO  BORROW  A  FRANC. 


455 


on  the  western  bank  of  the  Saone.  But  at  the  precise  min¬ 
ute  I  was  at  the  office,  where  B - was  already  in  waiting. 

What  an  intensity  of  suspense  was  crowded  into  those  few 
seconds,  while  the  clerk  was  looking  over  the  letters  !  What 
an  electric  shock  of  joy,  when  it  came  at  last!  But  the 
postage  was  fourteen  sous,  and  we  had  not  a  centime.  The 
clerk  put  the  letter  back  again.  Hope  was  more  suggestive 
than  anxiety,  and  I  instantly  hit  upon  a  plan  for  getting  it. 
“  You  know  that  I  went  out  first  this  morning,”  I  said  to  my 
friend,  “  and  Madame  Ferrand  knows  it  too.  Go  back  and 
ask  if  I  have  returned.  Of  course,  she  will  say  ‘  no/ 
Then  tell  her  that  I  carry  our  common  stock  of  money,  (!) 
that  you  don’t  know  where  I  have  gone,  that  there  is 
a  letter  in  the  office  for  you,  and  you  can’t  get  it.  Ask 
her  to  lend  you  a  franc  until  you  find  me,  when  I  will 
repay  it.” 

This  was  a  desperate  experiment,  for  there  might  be  no 
money  in  the  letter  after  we  got  it,  in  which  case  we  should 
only  have  added  to  our  difficulties.  I  paced  up  and  down 

the  square,  until  B - returned  with  the  franc,  my  plan 

having  succeeded.  It  required  a  deal  of  courage  to  break 
the  seal,  but  then,  thank  God !  our  suspense  was  over. 
The  remittance  from  home  had  reached  the  merchant  only 

the  day  before  he  received  B - ’s  letter,  and  he  enclosed 

an  order  for  part  of  the  money  on  his  correspondent  in 
Lyons.  This  providential  relief  gave  rise  to  an  overpower¬ 
ing  revulsion  of  feeling.  For  my  part,  my  nerves  were 
strung  to  such  a  pitch  that — not  knowing  what  else  to  do, — 
I  walked  up  to  the  statue  of  Louis  XIY.  in  the  middle  of 
the  square,  seized  with  both  hands  the  heavy  iron  railing 


456 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


which  surrounds  it,  and  pulled  until  I  expected  to  see  the 
rails  give  way. 

After  getting  the  money,  the  first  thing  we  did  (so  weak  is 
human  nature !)  was  to  step  into  a  pastry-cook’s  and  pur¬ 
chase  two  delicate  cheese-cakes,  which  we  had  been  examin¬ 
ing  with  hungry  eyes,  for  five  days.  The  market-women  in 
the  square,  who  knew  us  too  well,  saw  this  unusual  action, 
and  shouted  with  laughter.  But  nothing  disturbed  us,  for 
all  mankind  was  changed  in  our  eyes.  The  policemen 
looked  at  us  with  calm  confidence  ;  the  cold  and  suspicious 
faces  of  the  crowd  had  suddenly  become  kind  and  cheerful. 
Our  own  faces,  too,  must  have  shown  a  change,  for  when 
we  returned  to  the  inn  Madame  Ferrand  met  us  with  a 
friendly  smile,  and  prepared  us  a  much  better  dinner  than 
we  had  had  before.  In  the  afternoon  we  purchased  new 
shoes  at  a  small  shop  in  the  suburbs.  I  gave  the  cobbler 
my  old  pair,  which  he  instantly  flung  into  the  street,  with 
the  exclamation  :  “  Ils  ne  valent  pas  un  sous ,  Monsieur 


CHAPTER  XL  I . 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  PARIS. 

€»  •*  •  jf  '  '  A  --  •• 

The  Pleasure  of  Rest-Leaving  Lyons— Voyage  up  the  Baone— An  Inundation— Tho 
Strolling  Musicians  and  their  Child— Walking  in  Burgundy— The  Upland  Region 
— A  Drenching  Storm — Slow  Ride  to  Auxerre — Miseries  of  a  Country  Diligence — 
The  Bloody  Seine — Arrival  at  Paris— Getting  a  Draft  Paid— Seeing  Paris  perforce— 
Letters  from  Homo* 

Paris,  February  6.  1846. 

Every  letter  of  the  date  is  traced  with  an  emotion  of  joy, 
for  our  dreary  journey  is  at  an  end.  There  was  a  magic  in 
the  name  that  revived  us  during  anxious  days,  and  now  the 
thought  that  it  is  all  over — that  these  walls  which  inclose 
us,  stand  in  the  heart  of  the  gay  city — seems  almost  too 
joyful  to  be  true.  Yesterday  I  marked  with  the  whitest 
chalk,  for  I  got  out  of  the  cramped  diligence  at  the  Barriere 
de  Charenton,  and  saw  before  me  in  the  morning  twilight, 
the  immense  grey  mass  of  Paris.  I  forgot  my  numbed  and 
stiffened  frame,  and  every  other  of  the  thousand  disagreea¬ 
ble  feelings  of  diligence  travelling,  in  the  pleasure  which 
that  sight  afforded. 

We  arose  in  the  dark  at  Lyons,  and  after  bidding  adieu  to 

20 


458 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


morose  Monsieur  Ferrand,  traversed  tlie  silent  city,  and  found 
our  way  in  the  mist  and  gloom  to  the  steamboat  landing  on 
the  Sa6ne.  The  waters  were  swollen  much  above  their 
usual  level,  which  was  favorable  for  the  boat,  as  long  as 
there  was  room  enough  left  to  pass  under  the  bridges. 
After  a  great  deal  of  bustle  we  got  under  way,  and  were 
dashing  out  of  Lyons,  against  the  swift  current,  before  day¬ 
break.  We  passed  L'Isle  Barbe,  once  a  favorite  residence 
of  Charlemagne,  and  now  the  haunt  of  the  Lyonnaise  on 
summer  holidays,  and  going  under  the  suspension  bridges 
with  levelled  smoke-stacks,  entered  the  picturesque  hills 
above,  which  are  covered  with  vineyards  nearly  to  the  top ; 
the  villages  scattered  over  them  have  those  square,  pointed 
towers,  which  give  such  a  quaintness  to  French  country 
scenery. 

The  stream  being  very  high,  the  meadows  on  both  sides 
were  deeply  overflowed.  To  avoid  the  strong  current  in  the 
centre,  our  boat  ran  along  the  banks,  pushing  aside  the 
alder  thickets  and  poplar  shoots.  A  little  after  noon,  we 
passed  the  large  town  of  Macon,  the  birth-place  of  the  poet 
Lamartine.  The  valley  of  the  Saone,  no  longer  inclosed 
among  the  hills,  spread  out  to  several  miles  in  width.  Along 
the  west  lay  in  sunshine  the  vine-mountains  of  Cote  d’Or  ; 
among  the  dark  clouds  in  the  eastern  sky,  we  could  barely 
distinguish  the  outline  of  the  Jura.  The  waters  were  so 
much  swollen  as  to  cover  the  plain  for  two  or  three  miles.  W e 
seemed  to  be  sailing  over  a  lake,  with  rows  of  trees  spring¬ 
ing  up  out  of  the  water,  and  houses  and  villages  lying  like 
islands  on  its  surface.  A  sunset  that  promised  better  weather 
tinged  the  broad  brown  flood,  as  Chalons  came  in  sight.  We 


STROLLING  MUSICIANS  AND  THEIR  CHILD. 


459 


squeezed  through  the  crowd  of  porters  and  diligence  men, 
declining  their  kind  offers,  and  hunted  quarters  to  suit 
ourselves. 

We  left  Chalons  on  the  morning  of  the  1st,  in  high  spirits 
at  the  thought  that  there  were  hut  little  more  than  two  hun¬ 
dred  miles  between  us  and  Paris.  In  walking  over  the  cold, 
muddy  plain,  we  passed  a  family  of  strolling  musicians,  who 
were  sitting  on  a  heap  of  stones  by  the  roadside^  An  ill- 
dressed,  ill-natured  man  and  woman,  each  carrying  a  violin, 
and  a  thin,  squalid  girl,  with  a  tambourine,  composed  the 
group.  Their  faces  bore  that  unfeeling  stamp,  which  springs 
from  depravity  and  degradation.  When  we  had  walked 
somewhat  more  than  a  mile,  we  overtook  a  little  girl,  who 
was  crying  bitterly.  By  her  features,  from  which  the  fresh 
beauty  of  childhood  had  not  been  worn,  and  the  steel  triangle 
which  was  tied  to  her  belt,  we  knew  that  she  belonged  to 
the  family  we  had  passed.  Her  dress  was  thin  and  ragged, 
and  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes  but  ill  protected  her  feet  from 
the  sharp  cold.  I  stopped  and  asked  her  why  she  cried,  but 
she  did  not  at  first  answer.  However,  by  questioning,  I 
found  her  unfeeling  parents  had  sent  her  on  without  food ; 
she  was  sobbing  with  hunger  and  cold.  Our  pockets  were 
full  of  bread  and  cheese  which  we  had  bought  for  breakfast, 
and  we  gave  her  half  a  loaf,  which  stopped  her  tears  at 
once.  She  looked  up  and  thanked  us,  smiling  ;  and  sitting 
down  on  a  bank,  began  to  eat  as  if  half  famished. 

The  physiognomy  of  this  region  is  very  singular.  The 
country  seems  to  have  originally  been  a  vast  elevated  plain, 
in  which  some  great  power  has  scooped  out,  as  with  a  hand, 
deep  circular  valleys  all  over  its  surface.  In  winding  along 


460 


VIEWS  A-FOOT 


the  high  ridges,  we  often  looked  down,  on  either  side,  into 
such  hollows,  several  miles  in  diameter,  and  sometimes  en¬ 
tirely  covered  with  vineyards.  At  La  Rochepot,  a  quaint, 
antique  village,  lying  in  the  bottom  of  one  of  these  dells,  we 
saw  the  finest  ruin  of  the  middle  ages  that  I  have  met  with 
in  France.  We  passed  the  night  at  Ivry  (not  the  Ivry  which 
gained  Henri  Quatre  his  kingdom),  and  then  continued  our 
march  over  roads  which  I  can  only  compare  to  our  country 
roads  in  America  during  the  spring  thaw.  In  addition  to 
this,  the  rain  commenced  early  in  the  morning  and  continued 
all  day,  so  that  we  were  completely  wet  the  whole  time. 
The  plains,  too  high  and  cold  to  produce  wine,  were  varied 
by  forests  of  beech  and  oak,  and  the  population  was  thinly 
scattered  over  them  in  small  villages.  Travellers  generally 
complain  very  much  of  the  monotomy  of  this  part  of 
France,  and,  with  such  dreary  weather,  we  could  not  dis¬ 
agree  with  them. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  rain  increased,  and  the  sky  put 
on  that  dull,  gray  cast,  which  denotes  a  lengthened  storm. 
We  were  fain  to  stop  at  nightfall,  but  there  was  no  inn  near 
at  hand — not  even  a  hovel  of  a  cabaret  in  which  to  shelter 
ourselves,  and,  on  inquiring  of  the  wagoners,  we  received 
the  comfortable  assurance  that  there  was  yet  a  league  and  a 
half  to  the  nearest  stopping  place.  On,  then,  we  went,  with  the 
pitiless  storm  beating  in  our  faces  and  on  our  breasts,  until 
there  was  not  a  dry  spot  left,  except  what  our  knapsacks 
covered.  We  could  not  have  been  more  completely  satu¬ 
rated  if  we  had  been  dipped  in  the  Yonne.  At  length, 
after  two  hours  of  slipping  and  sliding  along  in  the  mud 
and  wet  and  darkness,  we  reached  Saulieu,  and  by  the 


MISERIES  OF  A  COUNTRY  DILIGENCE. 


461 


warm  fire,  thanked  our  stars  that  the  day’s  dismal  tramp 
was  over. 

By  good  or  bad  luck  (I  have  not  decided  which)  a  vehicle 
was  to  start  the  next  morning  for  Auxerre,  distant  sixty 
miles,  and  the  fare  being  but  five  francs,  we  thought  it  wisest 
to  take  places.  It  was  always  with  reluctance  that  we  de¬ 
parted  from  our  usual  mode  of  travelling,  but,  in  the  present 
instance,  the  circumstances  absolutely  compelled  it. 

Next  morning,  at  sunrise,  we  took  our  seats  in  a  large 
square  vehicle  on  two  wheels,  calculated  for  six  persons  and 
a  driver,  with  a  single  horse.  But,  as  he  was  fat  and  round 
as  an  elephant,  and  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  we  were 
well  protected  from  the  rain,  it  was  not  so  bad  after  all, 
barring  the  jolts  and  jarred  vertebrae.  We  drove  on,  over 
the  same  dreary  expanse  of  plain  and  forest,  passing  through 
two  or  three  towns  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  by  evening 
had  made  somewhat  more  than  half  our  journey.  Owing  to 
the  slowness  of  our  fresh  horse,  we  were  jolted  about  the 
whole  night,  and  did  not  arrive  at  Auxerre  until  six  o’clock 
in  the  morning.  After  waiting  an  hour  in  a  hotel  beside  the 
rushing  Yonne,  a  lumbering  diligence  was  got  ready,  and  we 
were  offered  places  to  Paris  for  seven  francs.  As  the  dis¬ 
tance  is  one  hundred  and  ten  miles,  this  would  be  considered 
cheap  fare,  but  I  should  not  want  to  travel  it  again  and  be 
paid  for  doing  so.  Twelve  persons  were  packed  into  a  box 
not  large  enough  for  a  cow.  and  no  joiner  ever  dove-tailed 
his  corners  tighter  than  did  we  our  knees  and  nether  extre¬ 
mities.  It  is  my  lot  to  be  blessed  with  abundance  of  stature, 
and  none  but  tall  persons  can  appreciate  the  misery  of  sitting 
for  hours  with  their  joints  in  an  immovable  vice.  The  close- 


462 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


ness  of  the  atmosphere — -for  the  passengers  would  not  permit 
the  windows  to  be  opened  for  fear  of  taking  cold — combined 
with  loss  of  sleep,  made  me  so  drowsy  that  my  head  was 
continually  falling  on  my  next  neighbor,  who,  being  a  heavy 
country  lady,  thrust  it  indignantly  away.  I  would  then  try 
my  best  to  keep  it  up  awhile,  but  it  would  droop  gradually, 
until  the  crush  of  a  bonnet  or  a  smart  bump  against  some 
other  head  would  recall  me,  for  a  moment,  to  consciousness. 

We  passed  Joigny,  on  the  Yonne,  Sens,  with  its  glorious 
old  cathedral,  and  at  dusk  reached  Montereau,  on  the  Seine. 
This  was  the  scene  of  one  of  Napoleon’s  best  victories,  on 
his  return  from  Elba.  In  driving  over  the  bridge,  I  looked 
down  on  the  swift  and  swollen  current,  and  hoped  that  its 
hue  might  never  be  darkened  again  so  fearfully  as  the  last 
sixty  years  have  witnessed.  No  river  in  Europe  has  such 
an  association  connected  with  it.  We  think  of  the  Danube, 
for  its  majesty,  of  the  Rhine,  for  its  wild  beauty,  but  of  the 
Seine — for  its  blood  !  All  that  night  did  we  endure  squeez¬ 
ing  and  suffocation,  and  no  morn  was  ever  more  welcome 
than  that  which  revealed  to  us  Paris.  With  matted  hair, 
wild,  glaring  eyes,  and  dusty  and  disordered  clothes,  we  en¬ 
tered  the  gay  capital,  and  blessed  every  stone  upon  which 
we  placed  our  feet,  in  the  fulness  of  our  joy. 

In  paying  our  fare  at  Auxerre,  I  was  obliged  to  use  a  draft 

on  the  banker,  Rougemont  de  Lowenberg.  The  ignorant 

%  • 

conductor  hesitated  to  change  this,  but  permitted  us  to  go, 
on  condition  of  keeping  it  until  we  should  arrive.  There¬ 
fore,  on  getting  out  of  the  diligence,  after  forty-eight  hours 
of  sleepless  and  fasting  misery,  the  facteur  of  the  office  went 
with  me  to  get  it  paid,  leaving  B to  wait  for  us.  I  knew 


SEEING  PARIS  PERFORCE. 


463 


•  nothing  of  Paris,  and  this  merciless  man  kept  me  for  three 
hours  at  his  heels,  following  him  on  all  his  errands,  before 
he  did  mine,  iji  that  time  traversing  the  whole  length  of  the 
city,  in  order  to  leave  a  haunch  of  venison  at  an  aristocratic 
residence  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  Yet  even  combined 
weariness  and  hunger  could  not  prevent  me  from  looking 
with  vivid  interest  down  a  long  avenue,  at  the  Column  of 
the  Place  Vendome,  in  passing,  and  gazing  up  in  wonder  at 
the  splendid  portico  of  the  Madeleine.  But  of  anything  else 
I  have  a  very  faint  remembrance.  “  You  have  an  appetite 
for  breakfast,  now,  I  should  think said  he,  when  he  re¬ 
turned,  “  we  have  walked  more  than  four  leagues  !” 

About  noon  we  sat  down  quietly  to  a  most  complete  break¬ 
fast.  Our  first  walk  was  to  a  bath,  and  then,  with  com¬ 
plexions  several  shades  lighter,  and  limbs  that  felt  as  if  lifted 
by  invisible  wings,  we  hurried  away  to  the  Post  Office.  I 
seized  the  welcome  missives  from  my  far  home,  with  a  beat¬ 
ing  heart,  and  hastening  back,  read  until  the  words  became 
indistinct  in  the  twilight. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


LIFE  IN  PARIS. 

Rooms  to  Let — A  disappointed  Landlord — Our  Apartment,  chez  Lambert — Living  on 
a  Franc  a  Day — Amusements — The  Streets  of  Paris — The  Place  de  la  Concorde-— 
The  Hotel  des  Invalides — The  Garden  of  the  Tuileries — "What  we  saw — The  Ameri¬ 
can  Minister — An  Experience  of  Suicide — Empty  Pockets  again — The  Sick  Mer¬ 
chants— Lying  in  Wait — The  Belief— I  Determine  to  visit  London. 

Our  first  care  on  reaching  Paris,  was  to  find  cheap  quar¬ 
ters,  for  we  had  a  residence  of  at  least  two  months  in  pros¬ 
pect,  and  the  remittance  which  my  friend  had  received 
consisted  of  two  hundred  and  eighty  francs  only.  The  inn, 
to  which  we  had  been  taken  by  the  merciless  facteur,  was  a 
dingy  place,  somewhere  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  fre¬ 
quented  by  Burgundian  teamsters,  and  for  the  gloomy  room 
we  occupied  the  hard-visaged  landlord  demanded  thirty 
francs  a  month.  We  sallied  out  the  next  morning,  and  after 
inspecting  a  number  of  “  chambres  d  louer ,”  finally  found  a 
little  room  at  the  top  of  a  tall  house  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe, 
“  chez  Lambert,  Coiffeur,”  for  twelve  francs  a  month,  and 
instantly  engaged  it.  The  Burgundian  landlord  thought  he 
had  us,  and  was  so  vexed  that  we  had  slipped  through  his 


OUR  APARTMENT. 


465 


fingers,  that  he  charged  us  enormously  for  the  few  meals  we 
had  had,  and  refused  to  give  us  our  passports  until  we  had 
paid  him.  Not  content  with  this,  he  assailed  us  with  a 
variety  of  coarse  epithets,  which  I,  who  was  boiling  over 
with  rage,  repaid  with  ironical  politeness,  only  yielding  so 
far  as  to  say  “  adieu ,  vieux  diable  /” — the  worst  French  I 
knew — when  we  left. 

Our  new  abode  was  a  box,  rather  than  a  room.  We  were 
obliged  to  pass  through  M.  Lambert’s  hair-dressing  room, 
then  through  Madame  Lambert’s  apartment,  then  to  mount 
four  flights  of  steep  old  stairs,  with  very  dark  landing-places 
between,  after  which  we  reached  the  topmost  story,  in  which 
was  our  room,  containing  a  small  single  bed,  two  chairs,  a 
table,  a  washstand,  and  a  diminutive  mirror.  There  was 
neither  stove  nor  fire-place,  and  the  only  window  faced  the 
north,  giving  us  a  prospect  of  tiled  roofs  and  chimneys.  It 
was  a  bleak  little  den,  but  it  seemed  delightful  after  our 
experience  in  Lyons,  and  the  only  thing  that  embarrassed 
us  was  the  excessive  politeness  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Lambert,  which  seemed  misapplied  to  persons  in  our  cir¬ 
cumstances.  There  was  another  lodger — a  pale  young  man 
from  Gascony,  who  was  consumptive,  and  a  hater  of  Louis 
Philippe  :  he  was  very  bitter  and  cynical,  and  we  did  not 
cultivate  his  acquaintance. 

Our  wardrobe  was  by  this  time  in  such  a  dilapidated  con¬ 
dition,  that  we  found  it  necessary  to  make  various  pur¬ 
chases,  which  consumed  so  much  of  our  funds  that  we 
determined  at  the  outset  to  spend  no  more  than  a  franc  a 
day  each,  for  our  meals.  After  a  number  of  experiments, 

20* 


I 


466  VIEWS  A-FOOT. 

we  discovered  a  cafe  near  the  Pantheon,  where  it  was  pos¬ 
sible  to  get  a  large  howl  of  coffee  (chicory),  with  a  roll,  for 
six  sous  ;  a  restaurant  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe  furnished  us 
with  soup,  “  unplat  ”  and  u  marmalade  d 9  abricots  ”  for  twelve 
sous ;  and  we  invested  the  remaining  two  sous  in  rolls  and  a 
kind  of  fish-cake,  which  we  purchased  at  the  stands  on  the 
quay  where  they  were  baked,  and  ate  in  the  privacy  of  our 
room.  Our  dinners,  it  is  true,  were  so  disguised  that  the 
original  materials  were  not  always  to  be  ascertained,  and 
our  favorite  “  boeuf  provcnpal  ”  had  a  flavor  very  suggestive 
of  horse-flesh,  but  there  was  always  enough  to  satisfy 
hunger,  and  we  were  content.  We  could  not  afford  the 
luxury  of  a  French  teacher,  but  we  subscribed  to  a  circu¬ 
lating  library  for  two  francs  a  month,  and  read  Victor  Hugo 
and  Theophile  Gautier,  until  we  became  chill  and  numb  in 
our  fireless  room,  when  we  would  go  forth  into  the  streets 
and  extend  our  acquaintance  with  that  out-door  Parisian 
life  which  is  always  fresh  and  entertaining. 

What  a  lively  little  world  in  miniature  it  is  !  I  wonder 
not  that  the  French,  with  their  exuberant  gaiety  of  spirit, 
should  revel  in  its  ceaseless  tides  of  pleasure,  as  if  it  were 
an  earthly  Elysium.  I  soon  felt  the  influence  of  the  cheer¬ 
ful  atmosphere,  and  have  rarely  threaded  the  crowds  of  a 
foreign  city  with  so  light  a  heart.  And  yet  it  would  be 
difficult  to  describe  wherein  consists  this  agreeable  peculi¬ 
arity.  You  can  find  streets  as  dark  and  crooked  and  dirty 
anywhere  in  Germany,  and  squares  and  gardens  as  gay  and 
sunny  beyond  the  Alps,  and  yet  they  would  affect  you  far 
differently.  You  could  not,  as  in  Paris,  divest  yourself  of 


THE  PLACE  DE  LA  CONCORDE. 


467 


every  particle  of  sad  or  serious  thought,  and  be  content  to 
gaze  for  hours  on  the  showy  scene,  without  an  idea  beyond 
the  present  moment. 

Our  favorite  walk  was  through  the  Place  du  Carrousel 
and  the  Gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  to  the  Place  de  la  Con¬ 
corde.  What  is  there  in  Europe — nay,  in  the  world — equal 
to  this  ?  In  the  centre,  the  mighty  obelisk  of  red  granite 
pierces  the  sky, — on  either  hand  showers  of  silver  spray  are 
thrown  up  from  splendid  bronze  fountains — statues  and  pil¬ 
lars  of  gilded  bronze  sweep  in  a  grand  circle  around  the 
Place,  and  on  each  side  magnificent  vistas  lead  the  eye  off. 

and  combine  the  distant  with  the  near,  to  complete  this 

% 

unparalleled  view  !  Eastward,  beyond  the  tall  trees  in  the 
garden  of  the  Tuileries,  rises  the  long  front  of  the  Palace, 
with  the  tri-color  floating  above  ;  westward,  in  front  of  us, 
is  the  Forest  of  the  Elysian  Fields,  with  the  Arc  de  Tri- 
omphe  nearly  a  mile  and  a  half  distant,  looking  down  from 
the  end  of  the  avenue,  at  the  Barriere  de  Neuilly.  To  the 
right  and  left  are  the  marble  fronts  of  the  Church  of  the 
Madeleine  and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  the  latter  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Seine.  Thus  the  groves  and  gardens  of 
Paris — the  palace  of  her  kings — the  proud  monument  of  her 

9 

military  glory — and  the  masterpieces  of  modern  French 
architecture,  are  all  embraced  in  this  one  superb  coup  d’oeil. 

Following  the  motley  multitude  to  the  bridge,  I  crossed 
and  made  my  way  to  the  Hotel  des  Invalides.  Along  the 
esplanade,  playful  companies  of  children  were  running  and 
tumbling  in  their  sports  over  the  green  turf,  which  was  as 
fresh  as  a  meadow ;  while,  not  the  least  interesting  feature 
of  the  scene,  numbers  of  scarred  and  disabled  veterans,  in 


468 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


the  livery  of  the  Hospital,  basked  in  the  sunshine,  watching 
with  quiet  satisfaction  the  gambols  of  the  second  generation 
they  have  seen  arise.  What  tales  could  they  not  tell,  those 
wrinkled  and  feeble  old  men !  What  visions  of  Marengo, 
and  Austerlitz,  and  Borodino,  shift  with  a  fiery  vividness 
through  their  fading  memories  !  Some  may  have  left  a  limb 
on  the  Libyan  desert ;  and  the  sabre  of  the  Cossack  may 
have  scarred  the  brows  of  others.  They  witnessed  the  rising 
and  setting  of  that  great  meteor,  which  intoxicated  France 
with  such  a  blaze  of  power  and  glory,  and  now,  when  the 
recollection  of  that  wonderful  period  seems  almost  like  a 
stormy  dream,  they  are  left  to  guard  the  ashes  of  their 
ancient  General,  brought  back  from  his  exile  to  rest  in  the 
bosom  of  his  own  French  people.  It  was  to  me  a  touching 
and  exciting  thing,  to  look  on  those  whose  eyes  had  wit¬ 
nessed  the  filling  up  of  such  a  fated  leaf  in  the  world's 
history. 

As  we  step  out  the  western  portal  of  the  Tuileries,  a  beau¬ 
tiful  scene  greets  us.  We  look  on  the  palace  garden, 
fragrant  with  flowers  and  classic  with  bronze  copies  of 
ancient  sculpture.  Beyond  this,  broad  gravel  walks  divide 
the  flower-bordered  lawns,'  and  ranks  of  marble  demigods 
and  heroes  look  down  on  the  joyous  crowd.  Children  troll 
their  hoops  along  the  avenues  or  skip  the  rope  under  the 
clipped  lindens,  whose  boughs  are  now  tinged  a  pale  yellow 
by  the  bursting  buds.  The  swans  glide  about  on  a  pond  in 
the  centre,  begging  bread  of  the  bystanders,  who  watch  a 
miniature  ship  which  the  soft  breeze  carries  steadily  across. 
Paris  is  unseen,  but  heard,  on  every  side  ;  only  the  Column 
of  Luxor  and  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  rise  blue  and  grand 


WHAT  WE  SAW  IN  PARIS, 


4G9 


above  the  top  of  the  forest.  What  with  the  sound  of  voices, 
the  merry  laughter  of  the  children  and  a  host  of  smiling 
faces,  the  scene  touches  a  happy  chord  in  one’s  heart,  and 
he  mingles  with  it,  lost  in  pleasant  reverie,  until  the  sounds 
fade  away  with  the  fading  light. 

In  the  course  of  two  or  three  weeks  these  long  daily  ram¬ 
bles,  which  we  were  obliged  to  take  in  order  to  keep  ourselves 
warm,  made  us  acquainted  with  every  part  of  Paris,  from 
Pere  la  Chaise  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  from  St  Denis 
to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  We  visited  all  objects  of  interest 
and  curiosity — all  the  galleries  of  art  which  are  open  to  the 
public — in  short,  everything  which  could  be  seen  without 
expense,  except  the  famous  Rachel,  for  whom  we  paid  and 
by  whom  we  were  repaid  tenfold.  We  saw  Louis  Philippe 
ride  to  St.  Cloud  with  the  Prince  de  J oinville  and  the  Duke 
de  Nemours  ;  we  witnessed  the  saturnalia  of  the  Carnival 
and  the  Procession  of  the  Boeuf  Gras  ;  we  tried  to  procure 
admission  to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  but  our  notes  (sent 
in  the  manner  prescribed)  were  never  answered.  I  called 
upon  the  American  Minister,  the  Hon.  William  Rufus  King, 
who  received  me  with  great  kindness  and  invited  me  to  a 
ball  at  the  Legation  on  the  22d  of  February.  I  declined, 
on  account  of  lacking  the  necessary  dress,  but  called  upon 
him  twice  afterwards  and  was  treated  with  the  same  cordi¬ 
ality.  With  this  exception,  I  did  not  make  a  single  acquaint¬ 
ance  during  the  whole  of  our  stay  in  Paris.  With  regard 
to  the  temptations  of  the  gay  city,  I  was  safe  enough.  They 
do  not  assail  a  man  who  is  limited  to  a  franc  a  day. 

Towards  the  end  of  February  I  had  a  little  experience, 
which  came  near  terminating  seriously.  I  was  preparing  my 


470 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


letters  to  send  liome,  and  had  written  until  I  was  thoroughly 
chilled,  when  the  idea  of  procuring  a  brazier  of  coals,  such 
as  are  used  in  Italy,  came  into  my  head.  On  applying  to 
Madame  Lambert,  she  at  once  furnished  me  with  the  article, 
for  four  sous,  assuring  me,  in  reply  to  my  question,  that  the 
coals  were  not  made  from  charcoal,  but  from  wood.  I  fas¬ 
tened  the  door  and  window  tightly,  in  order  to  retain  the 
heat,  placed  the  brazier  under  the  table,  at  my  feet,  and  re¬ 
sumed  my  letters.  In  about  half  an  hour  I  became  conscious 
of  a  heavy  and  painful  sensation  in  the  head,  which  I  attribut¬ 
ed  to  my  cold  hands  and  feet.  The  feeling  increased,  until 
a  sharp  spike  driven  through  my  temples  could  scarcely 
have  given  me  greater  pain.  The  paper  became  blurred,  so 
that  I  could  no  longer  write  ;  a  dull  gray  mist  floated  before 
my  eyes  ;  I  dropped  the  pen  and  laid  my  head  on  the  table. 
I  was  fast  losing  consciousness,  when  my  friend,  who  had 
been  out,  opened  the  door.  He  at  once  noticed  that  the 
room  was  filled  with  a  stifling  gas,  and  threw  open  the  win¬ 
dow.  I  arose,  staggered  down  stairs  and  went  into  the 
streets,  but,  finding  that  I  saw  nothing  distinctly  and  was 
constantly  on  the  point  of  falling,  I  returned  to  my  bed, 
which  I  kept  for  two  days,  before  I  fully  recovered.  If  the 
suicides  by  charcoal  suffer  in  proportion  as  I  did,  their  deaths 
must  be  terrible. 

Our  resources,  at  last,  were  reduced  to  a  few  francs,  and 

it  became  necessary  to  find  some  method  of  relief.  B - 

had  written  for  another  remittance,  but  could  not  expect  to 
receive  it  for  a  month  to  come.  He  determined,  however, 
to  state  our  situation  to  the  merchant  through  whom  the 
former  remittance  had  been  received,  and  ask  for  a  small 


THE  SICK  MERCHANT. 


471 


advance.  But  the  merchant  was  absent  in  the  country,  and 
before  his  return  M.  Lambert  presented  his  bill  for  another 
month’s  rent  of  our  room.  I  asked  him  to  wait  a  day  or 
two,  as  our  banker  was  absent,  to  which  he  replied  with  a 
politeness  that  disconcerted  me  :  “  Tres  Men,  Monsieur .” 
Finally,  the  merchant  returned  and  my  friend  called  again, 
but  failed  to  see  him  :  he  was  sick.  By  this  time  our  funds 
had  dwindled  to  a  single  franc,  and  we  could  not  afford  to 
lose  time.  My  friend  called  on  the  second  day,  but  the  mer¬ 
chant  was  still  sick.  “  Well,”  said  he  to  the  servant,  “let 
me  speak  with  him.”  “  But  he  is  not  able  to  speak  ;  his 

throat  is  affected,”  was  the  reply  ;  and  B -  returned  to 

me  with  a  melancholy  mistrust,  more  than  half  convinced 
that  the  merchant  had  suspected  his  errand,  and  feigned 
sickness  to  avoid  seeing  him.  “  Still,”  said  I,  “  it  may  be 
true.  Go  back  and  write  a  note,  stating  our  circumstances, 
send  it  to  him  and  wait  for  an  answer.  This  will  decide 
the  matter  one  way  or  the  other.”  He  went  back,  and  I 
agreed  to  wait  for  him  at  the  nearest  corner.  After  waiting 
ten  minutes,  however,  I  could  no  longer  endure  the  suspense, 
and  resolved  to  secrete  myself  near  the  house,  in  order  that 

I  might  guess,  from  B - ’s  appearance  as  he  came  out, 

whether  he  had  been  successful.  There  was  a  cart  standing 
opposite  the  door,  and  I  crouched  behind  it  as  if  for  shelter, 
for  the  day  was  cold  and  rainy.  I  waited  about  ten  minutes 
longer,  when  the  door  opened  and  my  friend  issued  forth. 
His  face  had  a  wild,  excited  expression  ;  one  hand  was 
clenched  tightly,  but  as  he  reached  the  trottoir  and  started 
for  the  street-corner,  his  feet  were  lifted  as  if  the  cobble¬ 
stones  were  red-hot  under  them.  This  was  enough  :  I  jumped 


472 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


tip  from  behind  the  cart,  rushed  across  the  street,  and  slap- 
ped  him  on  the  back  with  a  mighty  shout,  causing  his  clench¬ 
ed  hand  to  open  and  disclose  a  roll  of  twenty  five-franc 
pieces  which  the  good  merchant  (who  was  really  ill)  had 
sent  in  answer  to  his  note. 

This  was  the  last  of  our  financial  troubles  in  Paris.  My 
cousin,  who  wished  to  spend  a  month  or  two  in  the  French 
capital  before  going  home,  arrived  from  Heidelberg  early  in 
March,  and  took  a  room  near  us.  The  season  grew  milder 
and  our  condition  became  more  pleasant ;  but  as  I  had  order¬ 
ed  my  next  remittance  to  be  sent  to  London,  and  feared  to 
bring  my  friend  into  further  difficulties,  I  decided  to  go  on 
alone  to  that  city.  My  conscience  reproached  me  for  the 
idle  life  I  was  leading.  I  had  letters  to  several  printers  in 
London,  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  find  employment,  in  case  of 
necessity  I  accordingly  borrowed  enough  for  the  journey, 
took  what  clothing  my  German  knapsack  would  hold,  and 
prepared  for  a  walk  to  Dieppe. 


CHAPTER  X  LI  1 1 . 


I 


A  WALK  THROUGH  NORMANDY. 

Leaving  Paris— Versailles — Travel  in  March — The  Suspicions  Landlord— The  Scenery 
of  Normandy— Rouen — The  Vale  of  the  Cailly — A  Windy  Night — 1  Hail  the  Atlantic 
—A  Night  at  Dieppe — Crossing  the  Channel — From  Brighton  to  London. 

After  a  residence  of  five  weeks,  which  in  spite  of  our  few 
troubles,  passed  away  quickly  and  delightfully,  I  turned  my 
back  on  Paris.  It  was  not  regret  I  experienced  on  taking 
my  seat  in  the  cars  for  Versailles,  but  that  feeling  of  reluc¬ 
tance  with  which  we  leave  places  whose  brightness  and  gaiety 
force  the  mind  away  from  serious  toil.  Steam,  however, 
cuts  short  all  sentiment,  and  in  much  less  time  than  it  takes 
to  bid  farewell  to  a  German,  I  had  whizzed  passed  the 
Place  d’Europe,  through  the  barrier,  and  was  watching  the 
spires  start  up  from  the  receding  city,  on  the  way  to  St. 
Cloud. 

At  Versailles  I  spent  three  hours  in  a  hasty  walkthrough 
the  palace,  which  allowed  but  a  bare  glance  at  the  gorgeous 
paintings  of  Horace  Vernet.  His  “  Taking  of  Constantine  ” 
has  the  vivid  look  of  realitv.  The  white  houses  shine  in 
the  sun,  and  from  the  bleached  earth  to  the  blue  and  dazzling 


474 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


sky,  there  seems  to  hang  a  heavy,  scorching  atmosphere. 
The  white  smoke  of  the  artillery  curls  almost  visibly  off  the 
canvas,  and  the  cracked  and  half  sprung  walls  seem  about 
to  topple  down  on  the  besiegers.  The  afternoon  was  some¬ 
what  advanced  by  the  time  I  had  seen  the  palace  and  gar¬ 
dens.  After  a  hurried  dinner  at  a  restaurant,  I  shouldered 
my  knapsack,  and  took  the  road  to  St.  Germain.  The  day 
was  gloomy  and  cheerless,  and  I  should  have  felt  very  lone¬ 
ly  but  for  the  thought  of  soon  reaching  England.  There  is 
no  time  of  the  year  more  melancholy  than  a  cold,  cloudy 
day  in  March ;  whatever  may  be  the  delights  of  pedestrian 
travelling  in  fairer  seasons,  my  experience  dictates  that  dur¬ 
ing  winter  storms  and  March  glooms,  it  .had  better  be  dis¬ 
pensed  with.  However,  I  pushed  on  to  St.  Germain, 

!* 

threaded  its  long  streets,  looked  down  from  the  height  over 
its  magnificent  tract  of  forest  and  turned  westward  down  the 
Seine.  Owing  to  the  scantiness  of  villages,  I  was  obliged 
to  walk  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  wind  and  darkness,  before 
I  reached  a  solitary  inn.  As  I  opened  the  door  and  asked 
for  lodging,  the  landlady  inquired  if  I  had  the  necessary 
papers.  I  answered  in  the  affirmative  and  was  admitted. 
While  I  was  eating  supper,  they  prepared  their  meal  on  the 
other  end  of  the  small  table  and  sat  down  together.  They 
fell  into  the  error,  so  common  to  ignorant  persons,  of  think¬ 
ing  a  foreigner  could  not  understand  them,  and  began  talk¬ 
ing  quite  unconcernedly  about  me.  “  Why  don’t  he  take  the 
railroad  Vf  said  the  old  man:  “he  must  have  very  little 
money — it  would  be  bad  for  us  if  he  had  none.”  “  Oh  !” 
remarked  his  son,  “  if  he  had  none,  he  would  not  be  sitting 
there  so  quiet  and  unconcerned.”  I  thought  there  was  some 


ROUEN - VALE  OF  THE  CAILLY. 


475 


knowledge  of  human  nature  in  this  remark.  “  And  besides,” 
added  the  landlady,  “  there  is  no  danger  for  us,  for  we  have 
his  passport.”  Of  course  I  enjoyed  this  in  secret,  and  men¬ 
tally  pardoned  their  suspicions,  when  I  reflected  that  the  high 
roads  between  Paris  and  London  are  frequented  by  many 
impostors,  which  makes  the  people  naturally  mistrustful. 

I  walked  all  the  next  day  through  a  beautiful  and  richly 
cultivated  country.  The  early  fruit  trees  were  bursting  into 
bloom,  and  the  farmers  led  out  their  cattle  to  pasturage  in 
the  fresh  meadows.  The  scenery  must  be  delightful  in  sum¬ 
mer — worthy  of  all  that  has  been  said  or  sung  about  lovely 
Normandy.  On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  before  reach¬ 
ing  Rouen,  I  saw  at  a  distance  the  remains  of  Chateau  Gal- 
liard,  the  favorite  castle  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  Rouen 
breathes  everywhere  of  the  ancient  times  of  Normandy. 
Nothing  can  be  more  picturesque  than  its  quaint,  irregular 
wooden  houses,  and  the  low,  mossy  mills,  spanning  the 
clear  streams  which  rush  through  its  streets.  The  Cathe¬ 
dral,  with  its  four  towers,  rises  from  among  the  clustered  cot¬ 
tages  like  a  giant  rock,  split  by  the  lightning  and  worn  by 
the  rains  of  centuries  into  a  thousand  fantastic  shapes. 

Resuming  my  walk  in  the  afternoon,  I  climbed  the  heights 
west  of  the  city,  and  after  passing  through  a  suburb  four  or 
five  miles  in  length,  entered  the  vale  of  the  Cailly.  This  is 
one  of  the  sweetest  scenes  in  France.  It  lies  among  the 
woodv  hills  like  a  Paradise,  with  its  velvet  meadows  and 
villas  and  breathing  gardens.  The  grass  was  starred  with 
daisies,  and  if  I  took  a  step  into  the  oak  and  chestnut  woods, 
I  trampled  on  thousands  of  anemones  and  fragrant  daffodils. 
The  upland  plain,  stretching  inward  from  the  coast,  wears  a 


476 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


different  character.  As  I  ascended,  towards  evening,  and 
walked  over  its  monotonous  swells,  I  felt  almost  homesick 
beneath  its  saddening  influence.  The  sun,  hazed  over  with 
dull  clouds,  gave  out  that  cold  and  lifeless  light  which  is 
more  lonely  than  complete  darkness.  The  wind,  sweeping 
dismally  over  the  fields,  sent  clouds  of  blinding  dust  down 
the  road,  and  as  it  passed  through  the  forests,  the  myriads 
of  fine  twigs  made  a  sound  as  deep  and  grand  as  the  roar 
of  a  roused  ocean.  Every  chink  of  the  Norman  cottage 
where  I  slept,  whistled  most  drearily,  and  as  I  looked  out 
the  little  window  of  my  room,  the  trees  were  swaying  in  the 
gloom,  and  long,  black  clouds  scudded  across  the  sky. 
Though  my  bed  was  poor  and  hard,  it  was  a  sublime  sound 
that  cradled  me  into  slumber.  Homer  might  have  used  it  as 
the  lullaby  of  Jove. 

My  last  day  on  the  continent  came.  I  arose  early  and 
walked  over  the  hills  towards  Dieppe.  The  scenery  grew 
more  bleak  as  I  approached  the  sea,  but  the  low  and  shelter¬ 
ed  valleys  preserved  the  pastoral  look  of  the  interior.  In 
the  afternoon,  as  I  climbed  a  long,  elevated  ridge,  over  which 
a  strong  northwester  was  blowing,  I  was  struck  with  a  beau¬ 
tiful  rustic  church,  in  one  of  the  dells  below  me.  AVhile 
admiring  its  neat  tower  I  gained  unconsciously  the  summit 
of  the  hill,  and  on  turning  suddenly  around,  lo !  there  was 
the  glorious  old  Atlantic  stretching  far  before  and  around  me  ! 
A  shower  was  sweeping  mistily  along  the  horizon,  and  I 
could  trace  the  white  line  of  the  breakers  that  foamed  at 
the  foot  of  the  cliffs.  The  scene  came  over  me  like  a  vivid 
electric  shock,  and  I  gave  an  involuntary  shout,  which  might 
have  been  heard  in  all  the  valleys  around.  After  a  year 


CROSSING  THE  CHANNEL. 


477 


and  a  lialf  of  wandering  over  the  continent,  that  gray  ocean 
was  something  to  he  revered  and  loved,  for  it  clasped  the 
shores  of  my  native  America. 

I  entered  Dieppe  in  a  heavy  shower,  and  after  finding  an 
inn  suited  to  my  means  and  obtaining  a  jpermis  d ’  embarque- 
ment  from  the  police  office,  I  went  out  to  the  battlements 
and  looked  again  on  the  sea.  The  landlord  promised  to  call 
me  in  time  for  the  boat,  but  my  anxiety  awakened  me  sooner, 
and  mistaking  the  strokes  of  the  cathedral  bell,  I  dressed, 
unlocked  several  doors,  felt  my  way  through  dark  passages, 
and  finally  gained  the  street.  When  I  reached  the  wharf 
it  was  only  one  o’clock,  and  no  one  was  stirring  on  board 
the  boat,  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  pace  the  silent,  gloomy 
streets  of  the  town  for  full  two  hours.  I  watched  the  steamer 
glide  out  on  the  rainy  Channel,  and  turning  into  the  topmost 
berth,  drew  the  sliding  curtain  and  strove  to  keep  out  cold 
and  sea-sickness.  But  it  was  unavailing  ;  a  heavy  storm  of 
snow  and  rain  rendered  our  passage  so  dreary  that  I  did  not 
stir  until  we  were  approaching  the  chain  pier  of  Brighton. 

I  looked  out  on  the  foggy  shores  of  England  with  a  feel¬ 
ing  of  relief ;  my  tongue  would  now  be  freed  from  the  diffi¬ 
cult  bondage  of  foreign  languages,  and  my  ears  be  rejoiced 
with  the  music  of  my  own.  After  two  hours’  delay  at  the 
Custom  House,  I  took  my  seat  in  an  open  car  for  London. 
The  day  was  dull  and  cold  ;  the  sun  resembled  a  milky 
blotch  in  the  midst  of  a  leaden  sky.  I  sat  and  shivered,  as 
we  flew  onward,  amid  the  rich,  cultivated  English  scenery. 
At  last  the  fog  grew  thicker  ;  the  road  was  carried  over  the 
tops  of  houses ;  the  familiar  dome  of  St.  Paul’s  stood  out 
above  the  spires  ;  and  I  was  again  in  London ! 


CHAPTEE  X  L I V  . 


EXPERIENCES  IN  LONDON. 

My  Circumstances — Lodgings  in  Aldgate — Visits  to  the  Printers — Illiberal  Pules  of 
the  Craft — Dodging  a  Landlord — Success  and  Failure — Happy  and  Penniless — Visit 
to  Mr.  Putnam — The  Mistrust  of  Poverty — Employment  at  Last — Life  in  Aldgate 
— Letters  of  Introduction — A  Breakfast  with  Lockhart — Bernard  Barton— Croly — 
Daniel  O'Connell,  and  a  Temperance  Meeting— Trip  to  Greenwich— The  “Fun  of 
the  Fair  Games  in  the  Park— Greenwich  Hill— Ground  and  Lofty  Tumbling— A 
Swinging  Experiment— London  Atmosphere — A  Fog — Arrival  of  Money  and 
Friends— Embarking  for  Home. 

When  I  got  out  of  the  third-class  car  in  which  I  had  ridden 
from  Brighton,  and  found  myself,  benumbed  with  cold,  on 
London  Bridge  again,  my  funds  consisted  of  a  franc  and  a 
half — -just  enough  to  pay  for  one  night’s  lodging.  In  this 
emergency,  I  remembered  the  coffee-house  in  Church  Bow, 
Aldgate,  where  we  had  lodged  in  the  summer  of  1844,  and 
when  the  dreary  day  darkened  into  a  foggy,  starless  night, 
I  was  seated  in  the  well-known  room,  smelling  of  ale  and 
tobacco.  The  landlord  and  his  wife  evidently  felt  some 
curiosity  concerning  me,  but  they  were  respectful  and  asked 
no  questions.  They  gave  me  a  room  on  the  second  floor, 
looking  down  into  Aldgate  Churchyard — a  little  room  with 


VISITS  TO  THE  PRINTERS. 


479“ 


a  bad  bed,  a  rickety  cbest  of  drawers  and  a  piano  of  the 
past  century,  the  keys  of  which  had  long  been  silent :  all  for 
a  shilling  a  night.  I  did  not  venture  to  eat  anything,  but 
went  to  bed  soon  and  drowned  my  forebodings  in  slumber. 

The  next  morning  I  took  a  slender  breakfast,  for  which  I 
offered  the  franc  in  payment,  but  the  landlord  refused  to 
take  it.  “  Well,”  said  I,  “  I  have  just  come  from  France  and 
have  nothing  but  French  money.  I  shall  get  it  changed  to¬ 
day  and  pay  you  this  evening.”  I  then  went  out,  determin¬ 
ed  to  seek  instant  employment  as  a  printer.  Before  leaving 
New  York,  Mr.  Willis  had  given  me  a  note  to  three  printers 
of  his  acquaintance  in  London.  I  called  upon  the  first  of 
these,  who  referred  me  to  his  foreman,  who  informed  me 
that  although  printers  were  in  demand  and  were  receiving 
very  good  pay,  the  rules  of  the  trade  prohibited  him  from 
employing  any  one  who  had  not  passed  through  a  regular 
apprenticeship,  and  could  not  present  his  indentures  certify¬ 
ing  to  the  fact.  This,  of  course,  I  was  not  able  to  do.  I 
then,  after  much  search,  discovered  the  second  printer  to 
whom  the  note  was  addressed,  was  again  referred  to  the 
foreman  and  received  the  same  answer.  At  two  or  three 
other  printing  establishments  in  the  same  street,  my  applica¬ 
tion  met  with  a  similar  fate.  All  were  willing  to  employ 
me,  all  needed  my  services,  but  the  rules  of  the  trade  pre¬ 
vented  them :  their  regular  journeymen  would  desert  them, 
rather  than  permit  it.  By  this  time  the  day  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  I  wandered  back  to  Aldgate.  On  the  way  I 
stopped  at  the  Post  Office,  and  saw  that  there  was  a  letter  for 
myself  advertised — a  letter  from  home — but  I  had  no  money 
to  pay  the  postage,  and  went  away  savage  and  disheartened. 


480 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


On  paying  the  landlord  for  my  breakfast,  he  informed  me 
that  it  was  customary  to  settle  every  day  for  the  lodging, 
but  added  :  “  You  can  pay  for  both  days  to-morrow  morning, 
if  you  choose.”  “Very  well,”  said  I,  although  I  had  not 
enough  to  pay  for  a  single  night.  The  next  morning  I  got 
up  early,  while  the  master  and  mistress  were  still  in  bed, 
and  went  into  the  streets,  determined  to  find  some  relief 
before  returning.  I  was  obliged  to  walk  the  raw,  misty 
thoroughfares  for  three  hours  before  I  could  find  the  master- 
printers  in  their  offices.  I  called  on  the  third  and  last 
printer  addressed  by  Mr.  Willis,  'who  gave  me  the  same 
answer,  but  referred  me  to  another  establishment,  where  he 
thought  I  might  be  accepted.  I  went  thither,  and  after 
some  conversation  with  the  foreman,  was  told  I  might  go  to 
work.  I  took  off  my  coat,  rolled  up  my  sleeves,  and  was 
getting  a  case  in  order,  when  I  noticed  that  the  workmen, 
of  whom  there  were  a  number,  were  looking  at  me  and 
whispering  among  themselves.  Presently  the  foreman  came 
up  to  me  and  said :  “  I  am  very  sorry,  but  you  can’t  work 
here.  The  men  won’t  allow  it,  because  you  cannot  show 
that  you  have  served  the  usual  term  of  apprenticeship.”  I 
thereupon  put  on  my  coat  and  went  into  the  street  again, 

t 

and  that  was  all  the  type-setting  I  ever  did  in  Europe. 

By  one  of  those  curious  psychological  laws  which  have 
never  been  explained  by  philosophers,  the  last  chance  of 
obtaining  employment  was  no  sooner  taken  away  from  me, 
than  I  became  perfectly  happy  and  contented.  I  had  but 
two-pence  in  my  pocket,  which  I  spent  for  some  biscuits,  to 
satisfy  my  keen  hunger,  and  then,  as  the  day  was  rather 
milder  than  usual,  I  wandered  into  St.  James’s  Park,  where 


INTERVIEW  WITH  MR.  PUTNAM. 


481 


I  sat  for  two  or  three  hours,  looking  at  the  swans.  I 
scarcely  thought  of  my  desperate  situation  ,  my  mind  was 
tranquil,  and  a  purely  animal  confidence  in  being  provided 
for,  took  possession  of  me.  The  thought  of  the  letter  from 
home  finally  recalled  me  to  my  anxieties,  and  I  determined 
to  crush  the  pride  which  made  me  blush  to  think  of  such  a 
thing,  and  ask  some  one  to  help  me.  I  remembered  then  io 
have  heard  that  there  was  a  branch  of  an  American  pub¬ 
lishing  house  in  London,  and  by  inquiring  at  a  bookstore, 
procured  the  address.  In  half  an  hour  I  was  at  Waterloo 
Place,  and  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Putnam.  I 
first  asked  for  employment,  but  he  had  none  to  give,  and 
knew  of  none  which  I  could  procure.  The  consciousness  of 
being  a  vagabond  (which  every  man  feels  when  he  is  penni- 

i 

less  in  a  strange  land)  made  me  suppose  that  he  looked  upon 
me  as  such.  To  my  morbid  mood,  his  manner  seemed  con¬ 
strained  and  mistrustful ;  and  I  was  about  to  turn  and 
leave,  when  the  thought  of  my  letter  impelled  me  to  ask  the 
loan  of  a  sovereign.  He  gave  it  to  me  without  hesitation, 
but  I  still  saw  mistrust  everywhere,  and  did  not  feel  as 
grateful  for  the  kindness  as  I  ought. 

I  went  with  rapid  steps  to  the  Post  Office,  secured  the 
precious  letter,  returned  to  Aldgate,  paid  my  score,  and 
established  a  credit  with  the  fat  landlord,  which  was  not 
shaken  afterwards.  Mr.  Putnam  had  requested  me  to  call 
the  next  day,  when,  after  some  conversation,  he  furnished 
me  with  sufficient  employment  in  his  establishment  to  sup¬ 
port  myself  until  the  receipt  of  my  final  remittance.  I  saw 
plainly  that  he  made  employment  for  me,  for  all  that  I  did 

might  readily  have  been  done  by  his  other  assistants.  I 

21 


482 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


packed  up  books,  made  out  catalogues,  visited  all  tlie  pub¬ 
lishing  houses  in  London,  in  order  to  fill  orders  from  Ameri¬ 
ca,  and  did  occasional  copying.  Mr.  Stevens,  who  was 
engaged  in  supplying  several  private  libraries  in  New  Eng¬ 
land,  also  gave  me  similar  employment,  so  that  I  was  sure 
of  the  daily  three  shillings  on  which  I  managed  to  live.  I 
still  remained  at  the  Aldgate  Coffee-house,  in  the  room 
with  the  silent  piano.  The  master  and  mistress  treated  me 
with  marked  respect,  and  never  asked  more  than  my  name, 
while  I  had  no  inclination  to  tell  them  more.  The  tap-room 

—  V, 

was  frequented  by  actors  from  low  theatres,  a  few  half- 
starved  clerks,  and  some  sailors,  and  though  I  frequently 
passed  the  evening  there,  for  the  sake  of  the  fire,  and  the 
three-days-old  Times ,  they  never  annoyed  me  with  their 
curiosity.  Sometimes  their  visits  were  prolonged  far  into 
the  night,  and  became  boisterous.  I  was  then  sure  to  see 
swollen  faces  next  morning,  and  the  little  servant-girl  would 
say,  in  a  confidential  way  :  “  Oh,  but  didn't  master  and 
missus  fight  last  night !  ” 

As  soon  as  I  was  sure  of  being  able  to  live  in  London,  I 
delivered  two  letters  of  introduction  which  Mrs.  Trollope 
had  given  me  in  Florence,  to  her  brother,  Mr.  Milton,  and  to 
Mr.  Murray,  the  publisher.  The  former  received  me  in  a 
very  friendly  manner,  and  I  spent  several  delightful  even¬ 
ings  at  his  residence  in  Little  Chelsea.  By  Mr.  Murray  I 
was  treated  with  no  less  kindness,  and  received  through 
him  an  invitation,  to  breakfast  one  morning  with  Lockhart, 
and  Bernard  Barton,  the  Quaker  poet,  at  the  house  of  the 
former.  Mr.  Murray  accompanied  me  thither.  I  was  much 
pleased  with  Lockhart’s  appearance  and  manners.  He  has 


A  BREAKFAST  WITH  LOCKHART 


483 


a  noble,  manly  countenance — in  fact,  the  handsomest  Eng- 
lish  face  I  ever  saw — a  quick,  dark  eye,  and  an  ample  fore¬ 
head,  shaded  by  locks  which  show,  as  yet,  but  few  threads 
of  gray.  There  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  his  rich,  soft  voice  ; 
especially  when  reciting  poetry,  it  has  a  clear,  organ-like 
vibration,  which  thrills  deliciously  on  the  ear.  His  daughter, 
a  very  lovely  girl,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Bernard  Barton,  who  is  now  quite  an  old  man,  is  a  very 
lively  and  sociable  Friend.  His  head  is  gray  and  almost 
bald,  but  there  is  still  plenty  of  fire  in  his  eyes  and  life  in 
his  limbs.  His  many  kind  and  amiable  qualities  endear  him 
to  a  large  circle  of  literary  friends.  He  still  continues 
writing,  and  within  the  last  year  has  brought  out  a  volume 
of  simple,  touching  “  Household  Verses.”  We  went  after¬ 
wards  into  Lockhart’s  library,  which  was  full  of  interesting 
objects.  I  saw  the  private  diary  of  Scott,  kept  until  within 
a  short  time  of  his  death.  It  was  melancholy  to  trace  the 
gradual  failing  of  all  his  energies  in  the  very  wavering  of 
the  autograph.  In  a  large  volume  of  his  correspondence, 
containing  letters  from  Campbell,  Wordsworth,  Byron,  and 
all  the  distinguished  characters  of  the  age,  I  saw  CampbeH’s 
“  Battle  of  the  Baltic  ”  in  his, own  hand.  I  was  highly  in¬ 
terested  and  gratified  with  the  visit;  the 'more  so,  as  Mr. 
Lockhart  had  invited  me  without  previous  acquaintance. 

I  went  one  Sunday  to  the  Church  of  St.  Stephen,  to  hear 
Croly,  the  poet.  The  service,  read  by  a  drowsy  clerk,  was 
long  and  monotonous  ;  I  sat  in  a  side-aisle,  looking  up  at  the 
dome,  and  listening  to  the  rain  which  dashed  in  torrents 
against  the  window-panes.  At  last,  a  tall,  gray-haired  man 
came  down  the  passage.  He  bowed  with  a  sad  smile,  so  full 


484 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


of  benevolence  and  resignation,  that  it  went  into  my  heart 
at  once,  and  I  gave  him  an  involuntary  tribute  of  sympathy. 
He  has  a  heavy  affliction  to  bear — the  death  of  his  gallant 
son,  one  of  the  officers  who  were  slain  in  the  late  battle  of 
Ferozeshah.  His  whole  manner  betrayed  the  tokens  of  sub¬ 
dued  but  constant  grief. 

I  attended  a  Temperance  Meeting  in  Exeter  Hall,  for  the 
purpose  of  hearing  Daniel  O’Connell.  There  were  about 
two  thousand  persons  present.  The  great  Agitator  was  evi¬ 
dently  not  inspired  by  the  subject,  for  his  remarks  were  very 
common-place  and  his  manner  heavy  and  unimpressive. 
Nevertheless,  the  people  cried  “  hear  !  hear !”  at  the  end  of 
every  sentence,  whether  it  was  worth  hearing  or  not.  I 
never  saw  an  audience  with  less  taste  and  discrimination. 
O’Connell  was  followed  by  two  or  three  excessively  stupid 
speakers,  who  were  listened  to  with  solemn  endurance,  after 
which  a  physician — a  man  of  real  intelligence — commenced 
making  an  admirable  speech,  and  was  hooted  down,  for  no 
cause  that  I  could  perceive,  except  his  want  of  the  stupidity 
which  seemed  to  be  so  attractive. 

•  * 

One  day  in  April  Mr.  Stevens  invited  me  to  accompany 
him  to  Greenwich  Fair.  We  took  a  penny  steamer  from 
Hungerford  Market  to  London  Bridge,  and  jumped  into  the 
cars,  which  go  every  five  minutes.  Twelve  minutes’  ride 
above  the  chimneys  of  London  and  the  vegetable  fields  of 
Rotherhithe  and  Deptford  brought  us  to  Greenwich,  and  we 
followed  the  stream  of  people  which  was  flowing  from  all 
parts  of  the  city  into  the  Park.  Here  began  the  merriment. 
We  heard  on  every  side  the  noise  of  the  “  scratchers,  or, 
as  the  venders  of  these  articles  denominated  them  “  the 


SCENES  IN  GREENWICH  PARK. 


4  55 


fun  of  tlie  fair.”  This  is  a  little  notched  wheel,  with  a 
piece  of  wood  fastened  on  it,  like  a  miniature  watchman’s 
rattle.  The  “  fun  ”  consists  in  drawing  them  down  the  back 
of  any  one  you  pass,  when  they  make  a  sound  precisely 
like  that  of  ripping  cloth.  The  women  took  great  delight 
in  this,  and  as  it  is  only  deemed  politeness  to  return  the  com¬ 
pliment,  we  soon  had  enough  to  do.  No  one  seemed  to  take 
the  thing  amiss,  but  it  was  irresistibly  droll  to  see  a  large 
crowd  engaged  in  this  singular  amusement. 

As  we  began  ascending  Greenwich  Hill,  we  were  assailed 
with  another  kind  of  game.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
smashed  oranges,  with  which  the  people  above  and  below 
were  stoutly  pelting  each  other.  Half  a  dozen  heavy  ones 
whizzed  uncomfortably  near  my  head  as  I  went  up,  and  I 
saw  several  persons  get  the  full  benefit  of  a  shot  on  their 
backs  and  breasts.  The  young  country  lads  and  lasses 
amused  themselves  by  running  at  full  speed  down  the  steep 
side  of  a  hill.  This  was,  however,  a  feat  attended  with  some 
risk ;  for  I  saw  one  luckless  girl  describe  an  arc  of  a  circle, 
of  which  her  feet  was  the  centre  and  her  body  the  radius. 
All  was  noise  and  nonsense.  They  ran  to  and  fro  under  the 
long,  hoary  boughs  of  the  venerable  oaks  which  crest  the 
summit,  and  clattered  down  the  magnificent  forest-avenues, 
whose  budding  foliage  gave  them  little  shelter  from  the  pass¬ 
ing  April  showers. 

The  view  from  the  top  is  superb.  The  stately  Thames 
curves  through  the  plain  below,  which  loses  itself  afar  off 
in  the  mist ;  Greenwich,  with  its  massive  hospital,  lies  just 
at  one’s  feet,  and  in  a  clear  day  the  domes  of  London  skirt 
the  horizon.  The  wood  of  the  Park  is  entirely  oak — the 


486 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


majestic,  dignified,  English  oak — which  covers,  in  picturesque 
clumps,  the  sides  and  summits  of  the  two  billowy  hills.  It 
must  be  a  sweet  place  in  summer,  when  the  dark,  massive 
foliage  is  heavy  on  every  mossy  arm,  and  the  smooth  and 
curving  sward  shines  with  thousands  of  field  flowers. 

Owing  to  the  showers,  the  streets  were  coated  with  mud, 
of  a  consistence  as  soft  and  yielding  as  the  most  fleecy  Per¬ 
sian  carpet.  Near  the  gate,  boys  were  holding  scores  of 
donkeys,  which  they  offered  us  at  threepence  for  a  ride  of 
two  miles.  We  walked  down  towards  the  river,  and  came 
at  last  to  a  group  of  tumblers,  who  with  muddy  hands  and 
feet  were  throwing  summersaults  in  the  open  street.  I  re¬ 
cognised  them  as  old  acquaintances  of  the  Rue  St.  Antoine 
and  the  Champs  Elysees ;  but  the  little  boy  who  cried  be¬ 
fore,  because  he  did  not  want  to  bend  his  head  and  feet  into 
a  ring,  had  learned  his  part  better  by  this  time,  so  that  he 
went  through  it  all  without  whimpering  and  came  off  with 
only  a  fiery  red  face.  The  exercises  of  the  young  gentle- 
men  were  of  course  very  graceful  and  classic,  and  the  effect 
of  their  poses  of  strength  was  very  much  heightened  by  the 
muddy  foot-marks  which  they  left  on  each  other’s  orange- 
colored  skins. 

The  centre  of  the  square  was  occupied  by  swings,  where 
some  eight  or  ten  boat-loads  of  persons  were  flying  topsy¬ 
turvy  info  the  air,  making  one  giddy  to  look  at  them,  and 
constant  fearful  shrieks  arose  from  the  female  swingers,  at 
finding  themselves  in  a  horizontal  or  inverted  position,  high 
above  the  ground.  One  of  the  machines  was  like  a  great 
wheel,  with  four  cars  attached,  which  mounted  and  de¬ 
scended  with  their  motley  freight.  We  got  into  a  swinging 


wonderful  exhibitions. 


487 


"boat  by  way  of  experiment*  The  starting  motion  was  plea¬ 
sant,  but  very  soon  it  flew  with  a  swiftness  and  to  a  height 
rather  alarming.  I  began  to  repent  having  chosen  such  a 
mode  of  amusement,  but  held  on  as  well  as  I  could,  in  my 
uneasy  place.  Presently  we  mounted  until  the  long  beam 
of  the  swing  was  horizontal ;  at  one  instant,  I  saw  three 
young  ladies  below  me,  with  their  heads  downward, — then 
I  was  turned  heels  up,  looking  at  them.  I  was  fast  becom¬ 
ing  sea-sick,  when  after  a  few  minutes  of  such  giddy  soaring, 
the  ropes  were  slackened  and  we  all  got  out,  looking  some¬ 
what  pale,  and  feeling  nervous,  if  nothing  else. 

There  were  also  many  great  tents,  hung  with  boughs  and 
lighted  with  innumerable  colored  lamps,  where  the  people 
danced  their  country  dances  in  a  choking  cloud  of  dry  saw¬ 
dust.  Conjurors  and  gymnastic  performers  were  showing 
off  on  conspicuous  platforms,  and  a  continual  sound  of  drums, 
cymbals  and  shrill  trumpets  called  the  attention  of  the  crowd 
to  some  “  Wonderful  Exhibition” — some  infant  phenomenon, 
giant,  or  three-headed  pig.  A  great  part  of  the  crowd  be¬ 
longed  evidently  to  the  worst  classes  of  society,  but  the 
watchfulness  of  the  police  prevented  any  open  disorder.  W e 
came  away  early  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  were  in  busy 
London,  leaving  far  behind  us  the  revel  and  debauch,  which 
was  prolonged  through  the  whole  night. 

London  has  the  advantage  of  one  of  the  most  gloomy  at¬ 
mospheres  in  the  world.  During  the  opening  spring  weather, 
no  light  and  scarcely  any  warmth  can  penetrate  the  dull, 
yellowish-gray  mist,  which  incessantly  hangs  over  the  city. 
Sometimes  at  noon  we  had  for  an  hour  or  two  a  sickly  gleam 
of  sunshine,  but  it  was  soon  swallowed  up  by  the  smoke  and 


488 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


drizzling  fog.  The  people  carry  umbrellas  at  all  times,  for 
the  rain  seems  to  drop  spontaneously  out  of  the  very  air, 
without  waiting  for  the  usual  preparation  of  a  gathering 
cloud.  One  day  there  was  a  genuine  London  fog — a  speci¬ 
men  of  November  weather,  as  the  people  said.  The  streets 
were  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  dense  mist,  of  a  dirty  yellow 
color,  as  if  the  air  had  suddenly  grown  thick  and  mouldy. 
The  houses  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  street  were  invisible, 
and  the  gas-lamps,  lighted  in  the  shops,  burned  writh  a  white 
and  ghastly  flame.  Carriages  ran  together  in  the  streets, 
and  I  was  kept  constantly  on  the  look-out,  lest  some  one 
should  come  suddenly  out  of  the  cloud  around  me,  and  we 
should  meet  with  a  shock  like  that  of  two  knights  at  a  tour¬ 
nament. 

I  led  thus  a  misty,  monotonous  life  for  about  six  weeks, 
enlivened  by  an  occasional  visit  to  Mr.  Murray  or  Mr.  Put¬ 
nam,  or  my  kind  friends  at  Chelsea,  after  which  I  returned 
to  my  room  over  the  Aldgate  Churchyard,  the  dreariness  of 
which  became  pleasant  after  the  annoyances  of  London  streets 
at  night.  There  is  no  city  in  the  world  where  vice  has  so 
brazen  a  front,  as  in  London.  At  last,"  on  the  20th  of  April, 
I  received  a  remittance  of  fifty  dollars,  and  my  friends,  who 
had  also  replenished  their  funds,  arrived  from  Paris  two  or 
three  days  afterwards.  We  immediately  made  preparations 
to  return  home,  and  succeeded  in  engaging  passage  in  the 
Victoria ,  which  wras  to  sail  on  the  26th.  The  price  of  a 
passage  in  the  second  cabin  was  £12  10$.,  which  included 
sailors’  fare.  Our  funds  were  insufficient  to  pay  the  whole 
fare,  after  our  final  expenses  in  London  had  been  defrayed ; 
but  Capt.  Morgan,  who  was  not  so  mistrustful  as  my  Nor- 


EMBARKING-  FOR  HOME. 


489 


man  landlord,  agreed  tliat  tlie  rest  should  be  paid  on  our 
arrival  in  New  York.  On  tlie  day  of  our  departure,  we  took 
dinner,  for  the  first  time,  at  the  coffee-house,  and  the  fat 
landlord  made  us  a  pudding  as  round  and  puffy  as  his  own 
face,  in  honor  of  the  event.  He  desired  me  to  write  to  him, 
which  was  the  only  act  of  familiarity  he  was  guilty  of. 
After  dinner  I  heard  the  old  Aldgate  clock  strike  for  the 
last  time,  and  set  out  for  St.  Katharine’s  Docks  overjoyed 
at  the  thought  of  returning  home,  and  feeling  satisfied  that, 
now  my  pilgrimage  in  Europe  was  over,  I  had  done  all,  and 
more  than  all,  which  I  had  set  out  to  do. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


THE  RETURN  HOM  E — H  I  N  T  S  FOR  PEDESTRIANS. 

Quarters  on  Ship-board— Passage  through  the  Channel— Portsmouth— The  Voyage 
Home— Excitement  of  Return— Landing— Land  Sights  and  Scents— The  Last  Day 
of  the  Pilgrimage— Approaching  Home— The  Lighted  Window— Requisites  for  a 
Pedestrian  Journey— Travelling  on  Small  Allowance — Cost  of  Sleeping— The  Knap¬ 
sack-Manner  of  Travel— Open-Air  Life— A  Pedestrian's  Equipment— Books— 
Sketching— German  Students- Companions— Ignorance  concerning  America— 
Hotels  —  Country  Taverns  —  Passports  —  Funds  —  Personal  Safety— Comparative 
Expense  of  Different  Countries— Statement  of  my  Expenses— Farewell. 

We  slid  out  of  St.  Katharine’s  Dock  at  noon  on  the  appoint¬ 
ed  day,  and  with  a  pair  of  sooty  steamboats  hitched  to  our 
vessel,  moved  slowly  down  the  Thames  in  mist  and  drizzling 
rain.  I  stayed  on  the  wet  deck  all  afternoon,  that  I  might 
more  forcibly  and  joyously  feel  we  were  again  in  motion  on 
the  waters  and  homeward  bound  !  B - *  and  I,  with  two 


young  Englishmen,  took  possession  of  a  state-room  of  rough 
boards,  lighted  by  a  bull’s-eye,  which  in  stormy  weather 
leaked  so  much  that  our  trunks  swam  in  water.  A  narrow 
mattress  and  blanket,  with  a  knapsack  for  a  pillow,  formed 


a  passable  bed. 
by  a  feeble  swinging 



•y  between  the  rooms,  lighted 
was  filled  with  a  board  table, 


PASSAGE  THROUGH  THE  CHANNEL. 


491 


around  which  the  thirty-two  second  cabin  passengers  met  to 
discuss  politics  and  salt  pork,  favorable  winds  and  hard  sea- 
biscuit. 

We  lay  becalmed  opposite  Sheerness  the  whole  of  the 
second  day.  At  dusk  a  sudden  squall  came  up,  which  drove 
us  foaming  towards  the  North  Foreland.  When  I  went  on 

deck  in  the  morning,  we  had  passed  Dover  and  Brighton,  and 

% 

the  Isle  of  Wight  was  rising  dim  ahead  of  us.  The  low 
English  coast  on  our  right  was  bordered  by  long  reaches  of 
dazzling  chalky  sand,  which  glittered  along  the  calm  blue 
water.  Gliding  into  the  Bay  of  Portsmouth,  we  dropped 
anchor  opposite  the  romantic  town  of  Hyde,  built  on  the 
sloping  shore  of  the  green  Isle  of  Wight.  Eight  or  nine 
vessels  of  the  Experimental  Squadron  were  anchored  near 
us,  and  over  the  houses  of  Portsmouth,  I  saw  the  masts  of 
the  Victory — the  flag-ship  in  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  on 
board  of  which  Nelson  was  killed.  The  wind  was  not  strong 
enough  to  permit  the  passage  of  the  Needles,  so  at  midnight 
we  succeeded  in  wearing  back  again  into  the  channel,  around 
the  Isle  of  Wight.  A  head  wind  forced  us  to  tack  away 
towards  the  shore  of  France.  We  were  twice  in  sight  of 
the  rocky  coast  of  Brittany,  near  Cherbourg,  but  the  misty 
promontory  of  Land’s  End  was  our  last  glimpse  of  the  Old 
World. 

We  had  the  usual  experience  of  an  Atlantic  voyage — 
pleasant  weather  for  a  week,  a  very  severe  gale  for  five 
days  off  the  coast  of  Ireland,  variable  winds  in  mid-ocean, 
a  calm  on  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  and  a  fresh  breeze 
from  the  eastward,  which  failed  us  on  the  31st  of  May, 
when  but  thirty -five  miles  from  Sandy  Hook.  We  lay  there 


492 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


all  day  in  the  fog,  listening  to  the  surf  on  the  Long  Island 
shore.  A  pilot  who  found  us,  gave  us  newspapers  with  the 
first  account  of  the  war  with  Mexico  and  the  battles  of  Palo 
Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palma.  The  next  morning  at  sun¬ 
rise  we  saw  Sandy  Hook  ;  at  eleven  o’clock  a  tug-boat  took 
hold  of  us,  and  at  noon  we  were  gliding  up  the  Narrows, 
with  the  whole  ship’s  company  of  four  hundred  persons  on 
deck,  gazing  on  the  beautiful  shores  of  Staten  Island,  and 
agreeing  almost  universally,  that  it  was  the  most  delightful 
scene  they  had  ever  looked  upon. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  excitement  of  that 
afternoon.  After  thirty-seven  days  between  sky  and  water, 
any  shore  would  have  been  beautiful,  but  when  that  shore 
was  Home,  after  we  had  been  two  years  absent,  during  an 
age  when  time  is  always  slow,  it  required  a  powerful  effort 
to  maintain  any  propriety  of  manner.  The  steward  prepar¬ 
ed  a  parting  dinner,  much  better  than  any  we  had  had  at 
sea;  but  I  tried  in  vain  to  eat.  Never  were  trees  such  a 
glorious  green  as  those  around  the  Quarantine  Buildings, 
where  we  lay  to  for  half  an  hour,  to  be  visited  by  the  physi¬ 
cian.  The  day  was  cloudy,  and  thick  mist  hung  on  the  tops 
of  the  hills,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  could  never  tire  looking  at  the 
land. 

At  last  we  approached  the  city.  It  appeared  smaller 
than  when  I  left,  but  this  might  have  been  because  I  was 
habituated  to  the  broad  distances  of  the  sea.  Our  scanty 
baggage  was  brought  on  deck,  for  the  inspection  of  the 
custom-house  officer,  but  we  were  neither  annoyed  nor  delay¬ 
ed  by  the  operation.  The  steamer  by  this  time  had  taken 
us  to  the  pier  at  Pine-street  wharf,  and  the  slight  jar  of  the 


LAND  SIGHTS  AND  SCENTS. 


493 


vessel  as  she  came  alongside,  sent  a  thrill  of  delight  through 
our  frames.  But  when  finally  the  ladder  was  let  down,  and 
we  sprang  upon  the  pier,  it  was  with  an  electric  shock,  as  if 
of  recognition  from  the  very  soil.  It  was  about  four  o’clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  we  were  glad  that  night  was  so  near  at 
hand.  After  such  strong  excitement  as  we  had  felt  since 
morning,  the  prospect  of  rest  was  very  attractive. 

Life  at  sea  sharpens  one’s  sensibilities  to  the  sounds  and 
scents  of  land,  in  a  very  high  degree.  We  noticed  a  differ¬ 
ence  in  the  atmosphere  of  different  streets,  and  in  the  scent 
of  leaves  and  grass,  which  a  land  friend  who  was  with  us 
failed  entirely  to  distinguish.  The  next  day,  as  we  left 
New  York,  and  in  perfect  exultation  of  spirit  sped  across 
New  Jersey  (which  was  never  half  so  beautiful  to  our  eyes), 
I  could  feel  nothing  but  one  continued  sensation  of  the 
country — fragrant  hay -field  and  wild  clearing,  garden  and 
marshy  hollow,  and  the  cool  shadow  of  the  woodlands — I 
was  by  turns  possessed  with  the  spirit  of  them  all.  The 
twilight  deepened  as  we  passed  down  the  Delaware  ;  I  stood 
on  the  promenade  deck,  and  watched  the  evening  star 
kindling  through  the  cloudless  flush  of  sunset,  while  the 
winds  that  came  over  the  glassy  river  bore  me  the  odor  of 
long-remembered  meadow  flowers.  We  asked  each  other 
what  there  was  in  the  twilights  of  Florence  and  Yallambrosa 
more  delicious  than  this  ? 

A  night  in  neat,  cheerful,  home-like  Philadelphia,  whose 
dimensions  were  also  a  little  shrunken  in  our  eyes,  and  a 
glorious  June  morning  broke  on  the  last  day  of  our  pil¬ 
grimage.  Again  we  were  on  the  Delaware,  pacing  the  deck 
in  rapture  at  the  green,  luxuriant  beauty  of  its  shores.  Is 


494 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


it  not  worth  years  of  absence,  to  learn  how  to  love  one’s 
land  as  it  should  be  loved  ?  Two  or  three  hours  brought  us 
to  Wilmington,  in  Delaware,  and  within  twelve  miles  of 
home.  Now  came  the  realization  of  a  plan  we  had  talked 
over  a  hundred  times,  to  keep  up  our  spirits  when  the 
weather  was  gloomy,  or  the  journey  lay  through  some 
waste  of  barren  country.  Our  knapsacks,  which  had  been 
laid  down  in  Paris,  were  again  taken  up,  slouched  German 
liats  substituted  for  our  modern  black  cylinders,  belt  and 
blouse  donned,  and  the  pilgrim  staff  grasped  for  the  rest  of 
our  journey.  But  it  was  part  of  our  plan,  that  we  should 
not  reach  home  till  after  nightfall ;  we  could  not  think  of 
seeing  any  one  we  knew  before  those  who  were  nearest  to 
us  ;  and  so  it  was  necessary  to  wait  a  few  hours  before 
starting. 

The  time  came ;  that  walk  of  three  or  four  hours  seemed 
longer  than  many  a  day’s  tramp  of  thirty  miles,  but  every 
step  of  the  way  was  familiar  ground.  The  people  we  met 
stared,  laughed,  or  looked  suspiciously  after  us,  but  we  were 
quite  insensible  to  any  observation.  We  only  counted  the 
fields,  measured  the  distance  from  hill  to  hill,  and  watched 
the  gradual  decline  of  the  broad,  bright  sun.  It  went  down 
at  last,  and  our  homes  were  not  far  off.  When  the  twilight 
grew  deeper,  we  parted,  each  one  of  us  thinking  what  an 
experience  lay  between  that  moment  and  the  next  morning. 
I  took  to  the  fields,  plunged  into  a  sea  of  dewy  clover,  and 
made  for  a  light  which  began  to  glimmer  as  it  grew  darker. 
When  I  reached  it,  and  looked  with  the  most  painful  ex¬ 
citement  through  the  window  on  the  unsuspecting  group 
within,  there  was  not  one  face  missing. 


REQUISITES  FOR  A  PEDESTRIAN  JOURNEY. 


405 


Although  the  narrative  of  my  journey,  ‘‘with  knapsack 
and  staff,’ ’  is  now  strictly  finished,  a  few  more  words  of 
explanation  seem  necessary,  to  describe  more  fully  the 
method  of  travelling  which  we  adopted.  I  add  them  the 
more  willingly,  as  it  is  my  belief  that  many,  whose  circum¬ 
stances  are  similar  to  mine,  desire  to  undertake  the  same 
romantic  journey.  Some  matter-of-fact  statements  may  be 
to  them  useful  as  well  as  interesting. 

To  see  Europe  as  a  pedestrian  requires  little  preparation, 
if  the  traveller  is  willing  to  forego  some  of  the  refinements 
of  living  to  which  he  may  have  been  accustomed,  for  the 
sake  of  the  new  and  interesting  fields  of  observation  which 
will  be  opened  to  him.  He  must  be  content  to  sleep  on 
hard  beds,  and  partake  of  coarse  fare ;  to  undergo  rudeness 
at  times  from  the  officers  of  the  police  and  the  porters  of 
palaces  and  galleries ;  or  to  travel  for  hours  in  rain  and 
storm  without  finding  a  shelter.  The  knapsack  will  at  first 
be  heavy  upon  the  shoulders,  the  feet  will  be  sore  and  the 
limbs  weary  with  the  day’s  walk,  and  sometimes  the  spirit 
will  begin  to  flag  under  the  general  fatigue  of  body.  This, 
however,  soon  passes  over.  In  a  week’s  time,  if  the  pedes¬ 
trian  does  not  attempt  too  much  on  setting  out,  his  limbs  are 
stronger,  and  his  gait  more  firm  and  vigorous ;  he  lies  down 
at  night  with  a  feeling  of  refreshing  rest,  sleeps  with  a 
soundness  undisturbed  by  a  single  dream,  that  seems  almost 
like  death,  if  he  has  been  accustomed  to  restless  nights  ;  and 
rises  invigorated  in  heart  and  frame  for  the  next  day’s 
journey.  The  coarse  black  bread  of  the  peasant  inns,  with 
cheese  no  less  coarse,  and  a  huge  mug  of  milk  or  the 
nourishing  beer  of  Germany,  have  a  relish  to  his  keen 


496 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


appetite,  which  excites  his  own  astonishment.  And  if  he  is 
willing  to  regard  all  incivility  and  attempts  at  imposition  as 
valuable  lessons  in  the  study  of  human  nature,  and  to  keep 
his  temper  and  cheerfulness  in  any  situation  which  may  try 
them,  he  is  prepared  to  walk  through  the  whole  of  Europe, 
wuth  more  real  pleasure  to  himself,  and  far  more  profit,  than 
if  he  journeyed  in  style  and  enjoyed  (?)  the  constant  ser¬ 
vices  of  couriers  and  valets  de  place . 

Should  his  means  become  unusually  scant,  he  will  find  it 
possible  to  travel  on  an  amazingly  small  pittance,  and  with 
more  actual  bodily  comfort  than  would  seem  possible,  to  one 
who  has  not  tried  it.  I  was  more  than  once  obliged  to  walk 
a  number  of  days  in  succession,  on  less  than  a  franc  a  day, 
and  found  that  the  only  drawback  to  my  enjoyment  was  the 
fear  that  I  might  be  without  relief  wdien  this  allowance 
should  be  exhausted.  One  observes,  admires,  wonders,  and 
learns  quite  as  extensively,  under  such  circumstances,  as  if 
he  had  unlimited  means. 

The  only  expense  that  cannot  be  reduced  at  will,  in 

Europe,  is  that  for  sleeping.  You  may  live  on  a  crust  of 

\ 

bread  a  day,  but  lower  than  four  cents  for  a  bed  you  cannot 
go  !  In  Germany  this  is  the  regular  price  paid  by  travel¬ 
ling  journeymen,  and  no  one  need  wish  for  a  more  comforta¬ 
ble  resting-place  than  those  massive  boxes  (when  you  have 
become  accustomed  to  their  shortness)  with  their  coarse  but 
clean  linen  sheets,  and  healthy  mattresses  of  straw.  In  Italy 
the  price  varies  from  half  a  paul  to  a  paul  (ten  cents),  but  a 
person  somewhat  familiar  with  the  language  would  not  often 
be  asked  more  than  the  former  price,  for  wrhich  he  has  a  bed 
stuffed  with  corn-husks,  large  enough  for  at  least  three  mem 


MANNER  OF  TRAVEL. 


497 


I  was  asked  in  France,  five  sous  in  all  the  village  inns,  from 
Marseilles  to  Dieppe.  The  pedestrian  cares  far  more  for  a 
good  rest  than  for  the  quality  of  his  fare,  and  a  walk  of 
thirty  miles  prepares  him  to  find  it,  on  the  hardest  couch.  I 
usually  rose  before  sunrise,  and  immediately  began  the  day’s 
journey,  the  cost  of  lodging  having  been  paid  the  night 
before — a  universal  custom  among  the  common  inns,  which 
are  frequented  by  the  peasantry.  At  the  next  village,  I 
would  buy  a  loaf  of  the  hard  brown  bread,  with  some  cheese, 
or  butter,  or  whatever  substantial  addition  could  be  made 
at  trifling  cost,  and  breakfast  on  a  bank  by  the  roadside, 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  dewy  grass,  and  using  my  knap¬ 
sack  as  a  table.  I  might  also  mention  that  a  leathern  pouch, 
fastened  on  one  side  of  this  table,  contained  a  knife  and  fork, 
and  one  or  two  solid  tin  boxes,  for  articles  which  could  not 
be  carried  in  the  pocket.  A  similar  pouch  at  the  other  side 
held  pen  and  ink,  and  a  small  bottle,  which  was  filled  some¬ 
times  with  the  fresh  water  of  the  streams,  and  sometimes 
with  the  common  country  wine,  which  costs  from  three  to 
six  sous  the  quart. 

After  walking  more  than  half  the  distance  to  be  accom¬ 
plished,  with  half  an  hour’s  rest,  dinner  would  be  made  in 
the  same  manner,  and  while  we  rested  the  full  hour  allotted 
to  the  mid-day  halt,  guide-books  would  be  examined,  jour¬ 
nals  written,  or  a  sketch  made  of  the  landscape.  If  it  was 
during  the  cold,  wet  days  of  winter,  we  sought  a  rock,  or 
sometimes  the  broad  abutment  of  a  chance  bridge,  upon 
which  to  lie ;  in  summer,  it  mattered  little  whether  we  rested 
in  sun  or  shade,  under  a  bright  or  rainy  sky.  The  vital 
energy  which  this  life  in  the  open  air  gives  to  the  constitu- 


498 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


tion,  is  remarkable.  The  very  sensation  of  health  and 
strength  becomes  a  positive  luxury,  and  the  heart  overflows 
with  its  buoyant  exuberance  of  cheerfulness.  Every  breath 
of  the  fresh  morning  air  was  like  a  draught  of  some  spark¬ 
ling  elixir,  gifted  with  all  the  potency  of  the  undiscovered 
Fountain  of  Youth.  We  felt  pent  and  oppressed  within  the 
walls  of  a  dwelling ;  it  was  far  more  agreeable  to  march  in 
the  face  of  a  driving  shower,  under  the  beating  of  which  the 
blood  grew  fresh  and  warm,  than  to  sit  by  a  dull  fireplace 
waiting  for  it  to  cease.  Although  I  had  lived  mainly  upon 
a  farm  until  the  age  of  seventeen,  and  was  accustomed  to 
out-door  exercise,  I  never  before  felt  how  much  life  one  may 
draw  from  air  and  sunshine  alone. 

Thus,  what  at  first  was  borne  as  a  hardship,  became  at 
last  an  enjoyment,  and  there  seemed  to  me  no  situation  so 
extreme,  that  it  did  not  possess  some  charm  to  my  mind, 
which  made  me  unwilling  to  shrink  from  the  experience. 
Still,  as  one  depth  of  endurance  after  another  was  reached, 
the  words  of  Cicero  would  recur  to  me  as  encouragement — 
“  Perhaps  even  this  may  hereafter  be  remembered  with  plea¬ 
sure.”  Once  only,  while  waiting  six  days  at  Lyons  in 
gloomy  weather  and  among  harsh  people,  without  a  sous 
and  with  a  strong  doubt  of  receiving  any  relief,  I  became  in¬ 
different  to  what  might  happen,  and  would  have  passively 
met  any  change  for  the  worse — as  men  who  have  been  ex¬ 
posed  to  shipwreck  for  days,  scarce  make  an  effort  to  save 
themselves  when  the  vessel  strikes  at  last. 

A  few  words  in  relation  to  a  pedestrian’s  equipment  may 
be  of  some  practical  value.  It  is  best  to  take  no  more 
clothing  than  is  absolutely  required,  as  the  traveller  will  not 


a  pedestrian’s  equipment. 


409 


desire  to  carry  more  than  fifteen  pounds  on  his  back,  knap¬ 
sack  included.  A  single  suit  of  good  dark  cloth,  with  a 
supply  of  linen,  will  be  amply  sufficient.  The  strong  linen 
blouse,  confined  by  a  leather  belt,  will  protect  it  from  the 
dust,  and  when  this  is  thrown  aside  on  entering  a  city,  the 
traveller  makes  a  very  respectable  appearance.  The  slouched 
hat  of  finely  woven  felt,  is  a  delightful  covering  to  the 
head,  serving  at  the  same  time  as  umbrella  or  night  cap, 
travelling  dress  or  visiting  costume.  No  one  should  neglect 
a  good  cane,  which,  besides  its  feeling  of  companionship,  is 
equal  to  from  three  to  five  miles  a  day,  and  may  serve  as  a 
defence  against  banditti,  or  savage  Bohemian  dogs.  In  the 
Alps,  the  tall  staves,  pointed  with  iron,  and  topped  with  a 
curved  chamois  horn,  can  be  bought  for  a  franc  apiece,  and 
are  of  great  assistance  in  crossing  ice-fields,  or  sustaining  the 
weight  of  the  body  in  descending  steep  and  difficult  passes. 

An  umbrella  is  inconvenient,  unless  it  is  short  and  may 
be  strapped  on  the  knapsack,  but  even  then,  an  ample  cape 
of  oiled  silk  or  India  rubber  cloth  is  far  preferable.  The 
pedestrian  need  not  be  particular  in  this  respect ;  he  will 
soon  grow  accustomed  to  an  occasional  drenching,  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  men,  like  plants,  do  not  thrive  under  it,  when 
they  have  outgrown  the  hot-house  nature  of  civilization,  in 
a  life  under  the  open  heaven.  A  portfolio,  capable  of  hard 
service,  with  a  guide-book  or  two,  pocket-compass  and  spy¬ 
glass,  completes  the  contents  of  the  knapsack,  though  if  there 
is  still  a  small  corner  to  spare,  I  would  recommend  that  it  be 
filled  with  pocket  editions  of  one  or  two  of  the  good  old 
English  classics.  It  is  a  rare  delight  to  sit  down  in  the 
gloomy  fastnesses  of  the  Hartz,  or  in  the  breezy  valleys  of 


500 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


Styria,  and  read  the  majestic  measures  of  our  glorious  Saxon 
bards.  Milton  is  first  fully  appreciated,  when  you  look  up 
from  his  page  to  the  snowy  ramparts  of  the  Alps,  which  shut 
out  all  but  the  Heaven  of  whose  beauty  he  sang ;  and  all 
times  and  places  are  fitting  for  the  universal  Shakspeare. 
ChilJe  Harold  bears  such  a  glowing  impress  of  the  scenery 
on  which  Byron’s  eye  has  dwelt,  that  it  spoke  to  me  like  the 
answering  voice  of  a  friend  from  the  crag  of  Drachenfels,  in 
the  rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone,  and  beside  the  breathing 
marbles  of  the  Vatican  and  the  Capitol. 

A  little  facility  in  sketching  from  nature  is  a  most  useful 
and  delightful  accomplishment  for  the  pedestrian.  He  may 
bring  away  the  features  of  wild  and  unvisited  landscapes, 
the  picturesque  fronts  of  peasant  cottages  and  wayside 
shrines,  or  the  simple  beauty  of  some  mountain  child,  watch¬ 
ing  his  herd  of  goats.  Though  having  little  knowledge  and 
no  practice  in  the  art,  I  persevered  in  my  awkward  attempts, 
and  was  soon  able  to  take  a  rough  and  rapid  but  tolerably  cor¬ 
rect  outline  of  almost  any  scene.  These  memorials  of  two 
years  of  travel  have  now  a  value  to  me,  which  I  would  not 
exchange  for  the  finest  engravings,  however  they  might  ex¬ 
cel  in  faithful  representation.  Another  article  of  equipment 
which  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  mention,  is  a  small  bottle  of 
the  best  Cognac,  with  which  to  bathe  the  feet,  morning  and 
evening,  for  the  first  week  or  two,  or  as  long  as  they  con¬ 
tinue  tender  with  the  exercise.  It  was  also  very  strengthen-  . 
ing  and  refreshing,  when  the  body  was  unusually  weary  with 
a  long  day’s  walking  or  climbing,  to  use  as  an  external  sti¬ 
mulant  ;  for  I  never  had  occasion  to  apply  it  internally. 
Many  of  the  German  students  wear  a  wicker  flask,  slung 


I 


GERMAN  STUDENTS.  501 

over  tlieir  shoulder,  containing  kirschwasser,  which  they  mix 
with  the  water  of  the  mountain  streams,  but  this  is  not  at 
all  necessary  to  the  traveller's  health  and  comfort. 

These  students,  with  all  their  irregularities,  are  a  noble,, 
warm-hearted  class,  and  make  the  best  companions  in  the 
world.  During  the  months  of  August  and  September,  hun¬ 
dreds  of  them  ramble  through  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol, 
extending  their  route  sometimes  to  Venice  and  Rome.  With 
their  ardent  love  for  every  thing  republican,  they  will 
always  receive  an  American  heartily,  consecrate  him  as  a 
bursch ,  and  admit  him  to  their  fellowship.  With  the  most 
of  them,  an  economy  of  expense  is  part  of  the  habit  of  their 
student-life,  and  they  are  only  spendthrifts  on  the  articles  of 
beer  and  tobacco.  A  month’s  residence  in  Heidelberg,  the 
most  beautiful  place  in  Germany,  will  serve  to  make  the 
young  American  acquainted  with  their  habits,  and  able  to 
join  them  for  an  adventurous  foot-journey,  with  the  greatest 
advantage  to  himself. 

We  always  accepted  a  companion,  of  whatever  kind,,  while 
wralking — from  chimney-sweeps  to  barons.  In  a  strange 
country  one  can  learn  something  from  every  peasant,  and  we 
neglected  no  opportunity,  not  only  to  obtain  information,  but 
to  impart  it.  We  found  every  where  great  curiosity  respect¬ 
ing  America,  and  we  were  always  glad  to  tell  them  all  they 
wished  to  know.  In  Germany,  we  were  generally  taken  for 
Germans  from  some  part  of  the  country  where  the  dialect 
was  a  little  different,  or,  if  they  remarked  our  foreign  pecu¬ 
liarities,  they  supposed  we  were  either  Poles,  Russians,  or 
Swiss.  The  greatest  ignorance  in  relation  to  America,  pre¬ 
vails  among  the  common  people.  They  imagine  we  are  a 


502 


VIEWS  A-F00T. 


savage  race,  without  intelligence  and  almost  without  law. 
Persons  of  education,  who  had  some  slight  knowledge  of 
our  history,  showed  a  curiosity  to  know  something  of  our 
political  condition.  They  are  taught  by  the  German  news¬ 
papers  (which  are  under  a  strict  censorship  in  this  respect) 
to  look  only  at  the  evil  in  our  country,  and  they  almost  in¬ 
variably  began  by  adverting  to  Slavery  and  Repudiation. 
While  we  admitted,  often  with  shame  and  mortification,  the 
existence  of  things  so  inconsistent  with  true  republicanism, 
we  endeavored  to  make  them  comprehend  the  advantages 
enjoyed  by  the  free  citizen — the  complete  equality  of  birth 
— which  places  America,  despite  her  faults,  far  above  any 
other  nation  on  earth. 

In  large  cities  we  always  preferred  to  take  the  second  or 
third-rate  hotels,  which  are  generally  visited  by  merchants 
and  persons  who  travel  on  business  ;  for,  with  the  same 
comforts  as  those  of  the  first  rank,  they  are  nearly  twice  as 
cheap.  A  traveller,  with  a  guide-book  and  a  good  pair  of 
eyes,  can  also  dispense  with  the  services  of  a  courier ,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  conduct  strangers  about  the  city,  from  one 
lion  to  another.  We  chose  rather  to  find  out  and  view  the 
sights  at  our  leisure.  In  small  villages,  where  we  were  often 
obliged  to  stop,  we  chose  the  best  hotels,  which,  particularly 
in  Northern  Germany  and  in  Italy,  are  none  too  good.  But 
if  it  was  a  post ,  that  is,  a  town  where  the  post-chaise  stops 
to  change  horses,  we  usually  avoided  the  post-hotel,  where 
one  must  pay  high  for  having  curtains  before  his  windows 
and  a  more  elegant  cover  on  his  bed.  In  the  country 
taverns  we  always  found  neat,  comfortable  lodging,  and 
a  pleasant,  friendly  reception  from  the  people.  They 


COUNTRY  INNS - PASSPORTS. 


503 

t 

saluted  us,  on  entering,  with  “  Be  you  welcome,”  and 
on  leaving,  wished  us  a  pleasant  journey  and  good  fortune. 
The  host,  when  he  brought  us  supper  or  breakfast,  lifted  his 
cap,  and  wished  us  a  good  appetite — and  when  he  lighted  us 
tc  our  chambers,  left  us  with  “  May  you  sleep  well  !”  We 
generally  found  honest,  friendly  people  ;  they  delighted  in 
telling  us  about  the  country  around ;  what  ruins  there  were 
in  the  neighborhood — and  what  strange  legends  were  con¬ 
nected  with  them.  The  only  part  of  Europe  where  it  is 
unpleasant  to  travel  in  this  manner,  is  Bohemia.  W e  could 
scarcely  find  a  comfortable  inn  ;  the  people  all  spoke  an  un¬ 
known  language,  and  were  not  particularly  celebrated  for 
their  honesty.  Beside  this,  travellers  rarely  go  on  foot  in 
those  regions  ;  we  were  frequently  taken  for  travelling  hand- 
werker,  and  subjected  to  imposition. 

With  regard  to  passports,  although  they  were  vexatious 
and  often  expensive,  we  found  little  difficulty  when  wre  had 
acquainted  ourselves  with  the  regulations  concerning  them. 
In  France  and  Germany  they  are  comparatively  little  trou¬ 
ble  ;  in  Italy  they  are  the  traveller’s  greatest  annoyance. 
Americans  are  treated  with  less  strictness,  in  this  respect, 
than  citizens  of  other  nations,  and,  owing  to  the  absence  of 
rank  among  us,  they  also  enjoy  greater  advantages  of  ac¬ 
quaintance  and  intercourse. 

The  expenses  of  travelling  in  England,  although  much 
greater  than  in  our  own  country,  may,  as  we  learned  by 
experience,  be  brought,  through  economy,  within  the  same 
compass.  Indeed,  it  is  my  belief,  from  observation,  that 
with  few  exceptions,  throughout  Europe,  where  a  traveller 
enjoys  the  same  comfort  and  abundance  as  in  America,  l.c 


504 


VIEWS  A-FOOT. 


must  pay  the  same  prices.  The  principal  difference  is,  that 
he  only  pays  for  what  he  gets,  so  that,  if  he  be  content  with 
the  necessities  of  life,  without  its  luxuries,  the  expense  is  in 
proportion. 

The  best  coin  for  the  traveller’s  purpose,  is  English  gold, 
which  passes  at  a  considerable  premium  on  the  Continent, 
and  is  readily  accepted  at  all  the  principal  hotels.  Having 
to  earn  my  means  as  I  went  along,  I  was  obliged  to  have 
money  forwarded  in  small  remittances,  generally  in  drafts 
on  the  house  cf  Hottingeur  &  Co.,  in  Paris,  which  could  be 
cashed  in  any  large  city  of  Europe.  If  only  a  short  tour  is 

w  * 

intended,  and  the  pedestrian’s  means  are  limited,  he  may 
easily  carry  the  necessary  amount  with  him.  There  is  little 
danger  of  robbery  for  those  who  journey  in  such  an  humble 
style.  I  never  lost  a  single  article  in  this  manner,  and 
rarely  had  any  feeling  but  that  of  perfect  security.  No  part 
of  our  own  country  is  safer  in  this  respect  than  Germany, 
Switzerland  or  France.  Italy  still  bears  an  unfortunate 
reputation  for  honesty  ;  the  defiles  of  the  Apennines  and  the 
hollows  of  the  Roman  Campagna  are  haunted  by  banditti, 
and  persons  who  travel  in  their  own  carriages  are  often 
plundered.  I  saw  the  caves  and  hiding-places  of  these  out¬ 
laws  among  the  evergreen  shrubbery,  in  the  pass  of  Monte 
Somma,  near  Spoleto.  A  Swedish  gentleman  in  Rome  told 
me  that  he  had  walked  from  Ancona,  through  the  mountains 
to  the  Eternal  City,  partly  by  night,  but  that,  although  he 
met  with  many  suspicious  faces,  he  was  not  disturbed  in  any 
way.  An  English  artist  of  my  acquaintance  walked  from 
Leghorn  along  the  Tuscan  and  Tyrrhene  coast  to  Civita 
Vecchia,  through  a  barren  and  savage  district,  overgrown 


COMPARATIVE  EXPENSES  OF  DIFFERENT  LANDS.  505 


with  aloes  and  cork-trees,  without  experiencing  any  trouble, 
except  from  the  extreme  curiosity  of  the  ignorant  inhabitants. 
The  fastnesses  of  the  Abruzzi  have  been  explored  with  like 
facility  by  daring  pedestrians  ;  indeed,  the  sight  of  a  knapsack 
seems  to  serve  as  a  free  passport  with  all  highwaymen. 

I  have  given,  at  times,  through  the  foregoing  chapters,  the 
cost  of  portions  of  my  journey  and  residence  in  various  cities 
of  Europe.  The  cheapest  country  for  travelling,  as  far  as 
my  experience  extended,  is  Southern  Germany,  where  one 
can  travel  comfortably  on  twenty -five  cents  a  day.  Italy  and 
the  south  of  France  come  next  in  order,  and  are  but  little  more 
expensive  ;  then  follow  Switzerland  and  Northern  Germany, 
and  lastly,  Great  Britain.  The  cheapest  city,  and  one  of 
the  pleasantest  in  the  world,  is  Florence,  where  we  break¬ 
fasted  on  five  cents,  dined  sumptuously  on  twelve,  and  went 
to  a  good  opera  for  ten.  A  man  would  find  no  difficulty  in 
spending  a  year  there,  for  about  $25 0.  This  fact  may  be 
of  some  importance  to  those  whose  health  requires  such  a 
stay,  yet  are  kept  back  from  attempting  the  voyage  through 
fear  of  the  expense.  Counting  the  passage  to  Leghorn  at 
fifty  or  sixty  dollars,  it  will  be  seen  how  little  is  necessary 
for  a  year’s  enjoyment  of  the  sweet  atmosphere  of  Italy.  In 
addition  to  these  particulars,  the  following  connected  state¬ 
ment  of  my  expenses,  will  better  show  the  minimum  cost  of 


a  two  years’  pilgrimage  . 

V oyage  to  Liverpool,  in  the  second  cabin,  .  .  .  $24  00 

Three  weeks’  travel  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  .  .  25  00 

/ 

A  week  in  London,  at  three  shillings  a  day,  .  .  .  4  50 

From  London  to  Heidelberg,  .  .  .  .  15  00 

Amount  carried  over,  .  .  $68  50 

22 


506 


VIEWS  A-FOOT, 


Amount  brought  forward,  .  .  $68  50 

A  month  at  Heidelberg,  and  trip  to  Frankfort,  .  .  20  00 

Seven  months  in  Frankfort,  at  $10  per  month,  .  .  *70  00 

Fuel,  passports,  excursions  and  other  expenses,  .  .  30  00 

Tour  through  Cassel,  the  Hartz,  Saxony,  Austria,  Bavaria,  Ac.,  40  00 
A  month  in  Frankfort,  .  .  .  .  .  .'  10  00 


From  Frankfort  through  Switzerland,  and  over  the  Alps  to  Milan,  15  00 


From  Milan  to  Genoa,  ......  60 

Expenses  from  Genoa  to  Florence,  .  .  .  .  14  00 

Four  months  in  Florence,  .  .  .  .  50  00 

Eight  days’  journey  from  Florence  to  Rome,  two  weeks  in  Rome, 

voyage  to  Marseilles,  and  journey  to  Paris,  .  .  40  00 

Five  weeks  in  Paris,  .  .  .  .  .  15  00 

From  Paris  to  London,  .  .  .  .  .  .  8  00 

Six  weeks  in  London,  at  three  shillings  a  day,  .  .  31  00 

Passage  home,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  60  00 


$472  10 


The  cost  for  places  of  amusement,  guides’  fees,  and  other 
small  expenses,  not  included  in  this  list,  increase  the  sum 
total  to  $500,  for  which  I  made  the  tour,  and  for  which 
others  may  make  it.  May  the  young  reader,  whom  this 
book  has  encouraged  to  attempt  the  same  pilgrimage,  meet 
with  equal  kindness  on  his  way,  and  come  home  as  well  re¬ 
paid  for  his  labors  ! 


THE  END. 


. 


-  '  ' 


•  -  l  - 


. 


- 


i- 


>  ■ 

1 


. 


- 


. 


N 


t 


. 

j*  .  ■ 

* 


~  ♦  : 


.4 


r 


KL 


>-  ■' 


*. 


